


Lost Parallax

by Nunonon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, Overcoming Trauma, Rewrite, RoseGarden, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Trauma, dadpin/ozdad, no beta bc i am far too impatient sorry, two separate timelines!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nunonon/pseuds/Nunonon
Summary: A “probably, maybe, most likely” post-vol 7 version Oscar time travel fic where he tries to prevent the Fall of Beacon and maximize his future knowledge against Salem by attending Beacon and trying to get past-Ozpin on his side. The trouble is… he doesn’t know the key pieces for how Beacon fell in the first place and time is running out.If you like the concept of Ozdad and slowburn rosegarden, this is probably the fic for you.
Relationships: Oscar Pine & Everyone, Oscar Pine/Ruby Rose, Ozpin & Oscar Pine
Comments: 390
Kudos: 777





	1. Trust Fall

**Author's Note:**

> But first: *shots fired* *cash register noises*

_“Ironwood is declaring martial law and abandoning Mantle! Salem is coming and he’s going to use the Staff to move Atlas! If we don’t stop him, Mantle’s going to be—!”_

…

Oscar descends in the elevator to where General Ironwood was, not with a sense of desolation but instead with resolution, with purpose, with hope. Was he afraid? _Of course_ he was, he was pretty much afraid of everything since leaving home; but after losing the relic, this was something he knew only he could do. He’s not sure when but at some point he found himself resting his hands atop the pommel of the cane he carried. It felt sturdy, and reassuring, an ever-present familiar weight amid the alien chaos of fighting an infinite, impossible war. 

Oscar always held it like it was a lifeline. Ozpin had held it like it was a part of him. 

He feels almost calm staring down into the darkness. It’s a long way down and he has a lot of time to think.

He takes a long shuddering breath, hands tightening on the hilt, and in a moment of clarity, a memory bubbles up from the back of his mind, dreamlike and persistent. Oscar remembers a girl—Ruby—standing on the edge of a snowy cliff, scythe in hand, battered crimson cloak fluttering in the wind; defiant even in the face of Cordovan and the giant robot looming over her. When Cordovan demanded their surrender, the girl had only hefted her scythe, slammed the shaft of it into the ground, and shouted, _“No!”_ Zero hesitation, zero indecision. Simple unwavering resolve. A very small girl against an overwhelming, indomitable force, refusing to turn away.

Ruby had continued. 

_“Bigger people than you have tried to stop us and failed! But we’re supposed to be on the same side! We’re supposed to use our power to protect people! But you just use yours to look down on everyone!”  
…_

_“Now, I’m giving you one last chance to stand down and hear us out!”_

Oscar holds that memory close to his heart and lets out a very soft sigh once he caught the sight of Ironwood’s back. It was time. He was as small as Ruby was, and Ironwood wasn’t even over fifty feet tall. He could do this. He had to convince Ironwood. Ruby got scared too, but she never looked away from it. She kept fighting and doing what she thought was right. 

If they were going to win this unwinnable war, then he had to try to face what he was afraid of too. Ozpin, Salem, this war, this terrible curse, and the erosion of who he thought he was. He had to start making his own decisions on who he wanted to be, instead of waiting for what he’s convinced he’ll inevitably become. He wanted to be brave, like _her._

James calls out to him. 

“And… whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” 

“Still just me,” Oscar answers, voice soft, but certain. 

Everyone expected for him to be Ozpin, to have all the answers, but Ozpin wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t even have a plan! The time was past where Oscar worried about being a ghost in his own body. If Oz wasn’t coming back then he also had to be the one who made his own decisions about what to do. He wouldn’t allow people try to look through him searching for Ozpin instead any longer. 

He was _Oscar._

“It was smart of you not to bring the lamp down here,” Ironwood continues with slight self-derision, watching warily as Oscar approached. “I wouldn’t trust me either right now.”

“Trust is what I’m hoping to fix,” Oscar tells him mildly, hopefully, acting more composed than he really felt. His hand rested on the hilt of the cane as he came to a stop in front of Ironwood. “I know we can figure this out. All of it. Together… ” 

“Do you intend to fight me?” 

“No,” Oscar says, once again, certain. Leave it to a general to assume that might makes right. Leave it to James to assume that everything worth fighting for had to be done though force alone. Even if he’s gotten better at fighting, slowly inheriting Ozpin’s muscle memory and technique, Oscar didn’t think he could beat James in the first place. And besides… 

He continued, his voice still level and honest, “That’s exactly what she wants. I guess it’s because of Oz, but holding it helps calm me down when I’m afraid.” 

Oscar stares down at the shaft in his hand and then—

—retracts it. Places it on his belt. It was scary not to hold it in his hands, a small barrier between him and whoever might hurt him. It was scary without the reassuring pressure of The Long Memory on his fingers to give him comfort. He was a just boy who had been raised on a farm and held no importance beyond the extra passenger he carried in his head and General Ironwood was the military leader of an entire kingdom... who he was confronting!

…But if he couldn’t stand behind his own words, if he didn’t _believe_ in his own words, then like Ozpin he would only perpetuate this cycle of lies and half-truths, unable to fully trust the people closest to him, desperately contributing to stalling the inevitable. And that was the _last_ thing he wanted to do.

Maybe it was naïve but he wanted to _try._ Try and do his best. That’s all anyone could do. If he tried to fight Salem, then he and the others might die. But if he did nothing, then he would _still_ die and so would everyone else. So what was the point in giving up? Ruby wouldn’t give up. Jaune wouldn’t. Even Ruby’s uncle Qrow wasn’t giving up, not anymore, trying his best to stay sober and be there for the rest of them. And he was the biggest mess of a human being Oscar’s ever met! That had to _mean_ something; and so did trying to save Mantle. 

“You still think I’m afraid,” James scoffs, almost as if to himself. 

_Because you are,_ Oscar thinks harshly, but keeps that to himself. His aunt didn’t raise him to be _rude._ Instead, he follows up with, “We _all_ are. It’s what we _do_ in our fear that reveals—” 

_“That’s easy for you to say!”_

Oscar’s heart beats fast in sudden fear and takes a step back, and then another as Ironwood interrupts him, becoming aggressive, approaching him slowly with deliberate focus.

“You can label me whatever you like, but the fact of the matter is I was _right!_ The minute I softened, let my guard down, _that’s_ when Salem had her opening!”

Oscar’s always been bad with conflict. Blame it on anxiety, or an inner desire to please everyone to the point he’d let just about anyone walk all over him if he thought it would get him out of the crosshairs, but raised voices always made his stomach flip.

A flash of memory rises again, a girl in red standing on the cliff. Earnest, unyielding. For once, Oscar doesn’t shy away. Instead, he _stands his ground._

“If you abandon Mantle, then you abandon our best chance of reuniting the world! You abandon Remnant! Leaving millions to fend for themselves so a few can survive! What kind of—!” 

James interrupts him again, almost rolling his eyes, voice caustic and _hostile._

“All excellent philosophical points that won’t _matter_ if Salem wins!”

Oscar becomes desperate. He couldn’t accept that kind of justification. He was failing. If he could just reason with him, break through James’ trauma and fear, make him _understand…_

“ _Listen_ to me!” 

“No! _You,_ listen! I’m done letting others’ inability to see the big picture get in the way of doing what’s right! Robyn! The council! This kingdom! Even… you.”

Oscar briefly wonders if he really meant _him…_ or _Ozpin._ Because it was more than obvious to him that James was the one who most wanted Ozpin back, trying to jog memories loose during their sparring matches, talking to him as if he were already Ozpin, accepting his council in private moments even though he was _still_ only fourteen and _still_ only Oscar. He didn’t even recognize Oscar and Ozpin as different people. 

Maybe that would be true someday, but it wasn’t true _right now. That_ mattered too. 

Cornered and standing at the edge of the platform, Oscar draws himself up to his full height, as much as it paled in comparison to the man before him. His fists tighten, his shoulders tense. In this moment he has never been as sure of himself and what he believed as he was now. He has never been both more afraid and more determined. 

“Then you’re as dangerous as she is, James.” 

“James…” Ironwood looks down, thoughtful. “…Is what my friends call me.” 

He looks up sharply. He draws his pistol. 

_“To you… it’s General.”_

_BLAM!_

Oscar falls. His thoughts scatter. He was reeling with pain and shock, staring up at the distant platform as it rose further and further away from him, his small hopes and convictions ringing in his ears. He blankly catches sight of The Long Memory falling in place beside him, eyelids fluttering as he was gradually overwhelmed with the rush of wind howling around him, this sense of powerful weightlessness, the terrifying conclusion he’d drawn of what awaited him at the bottom.

So this is what fear did to people…

Was this… the end? Was this how he died? Ozpin would reincarnate. _Oscar_ wouldn’t. 

_Oscar!_

A jolt ran through him. 

Ruby dove down the barrel of a cannon for a purpose and belief more powerful than herself! Weiss was impaled with a burning spear, survived, and continued to fight right after! Blake had lived from being stabbed though the stomach, he’d seen the scars, and kept moving forward! Yang had lost an entire arm in her commitment to rescue a loved one! Qrow battled _himself!_ Every! Day! _Everyone_ saw it!

And Oscar? 

Oscar reached for _his_ cane. Or maybe they _both_ did. 

…

His feet touch the earth. Somehow, through all the horrors and the wonders he is still remarkably _alive._

He breathes in awe. 

“That power, these memories… You’re back, aren’t you? You saved me.” 

_Actually, **you** saved us._

Ozpin then attempts an apology but Oscar cuts him off sharply. 

“Stop.” 

It’s too exhausting to keep shuffling and keeping track of identities or unsaid apologies or whose thoughts were whose right now. They simply didn’t have the time. 

Despite everything he looks up to Atlas with a hungry, burning, overflowing hope deep in his bones. 

“All I want to know is how we save Atlas next.” 

He took one step forward, reunited with Ozpin at last, brimming with adrenaline, with _purpose…_

__

__and_ _

__

__then_ _

__

__blacked_ _

__

__out. ____


	2. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar throughout this entire chapter: d i s a s s o c i a t e s.

Oscar awakens to the sound of Grimm, the world around him swathed in ash and smoke, a raw, primal chaos creeping through the night. A desperate scream clawed through the air, shadows darted around him. Why was the moon so high in the sky? Why was he laying on the black earth? With a feeling like static in his soul and a hollow ache in his heart, Oscar lurches unsteadily to his feet… 

…And then he immediately regrets doing so because he stumbles back painfully against a tree, bracing himself. He felt light headed. 

Wait. Tree? He’d passed out in the tundra below Atlas, hadn’t he? 

Softly, almost experimentally, he whispers, “…Oz?” 

There was no answer. His ears were ringing. Snow was falling. What… happened? 

“Over there!” he hears someone shout. Metal. Sparks. Something must have happened to his eardrums, because everything sounded like he was underwater, garbled and distant.  
He touches his chest, as if reassuring himself he was still there before his foot catches on something. 

Oh. The cane. He kicks it up into his hands for which he had enough coordination left, apparently. He didn’t see any Grimm presently, but that only meant he was soon going to. The forest was alive with noise, howling and shrieking. Time seemed to be oscillating. Or dilating? Whatever. The fact was his perception of time felt offensively distorted.

Was this a concussion? 

He hears a choked, fearful cry, clearer than all other sounds around him. Like a drop of water in a cavern, it was the only thing that echoed in his head. On instinct he feels compelled to follow it and Oscar unsteadily makes his way through the falling snow, his grip tightening on the Long Memory. 

With all the whizzing snowflakes, smoke, and ash in the air, it was hard to see and he barely registers the movement in front of him until he nearly stumbles over the little faunus girl with budding antlers wearing a big umber-colored scarf crying in the snow. She couldn’t be older than ten years old. Her eyes were big and wide and wet, staring as he approached without even seeing him. It was shock. 

Oscar’s eyes fall to the blood on the ground. 

It would… be some kind of miracle if she got the use of her leg back. 

There’s a sinister crunch of snow and electricity runs up his spine, untempered, with the fear of a thousand lives lived and a thousand lived died behind it.  
Red eyes, black fur. Beowolf. Grimm. Bright white teeth set into a terrible jaw that could crush his throat in an instant. Ruthless, ever-multiplying, the terrifying gifts the God of Darkness brought to Remnant. 

Oscar coolly levels his cane, training kicking in where fear tried to grab hold.

His aura had been broken after General Ironwood had shot him, (how long ago was that?) but sometime between landing in the tundra and the time he had woken up from… being unconscious… he had gained some of it back. Enough to fight one Beowolf but probably not much more after that. And where there was one Beowolf, there were almost certainly more…

Despite his condition, he manages to dispatch the Grimm quickly enough, finishing it off with a brutal stroke he hadn’t known he was capable of in his current condition. After which he turns back to the girl and crouches down so that they’re at eye level. 

_You have to keep going,_ he tells himself. _You have to keep moving, you have to keep doing._

Otherwise, he thinks, if he stopped, he’d lose his will, lay down in the snow, and sleep forever. So he had no choice but to keep going.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he tells her, sounding a hell of a lot more certain and in charge than he felt. It was easier to feel brave when there was someone else who was more scared than you were. He wondered if that was how the others felt. When she still hadn’t responded, he continued in a voice that was just as calm, and a little gentle, “But first we have to do something about your leg, okay?” 

Mindfully, he slowly and carefully unwraps the scarf from her neck, being absolutely sure to telegraph his every move so she wouldn’t panic or frighten. Lucky for them both, the girl had been carrying a basket of sticks probably meant to be firewood before she’d been attacked. He splints her leg as best he can with the unwound scarf and scattered sticks. Occasionally, back on the farm, one of the goats or lambs would break a leg and they would have to be treated, so his aunt had taught him very basic first aid. It was the first time he’s done a splint for a person though. 

She trembled terribly at his touch, lips blue, her dangling earrings jingling like bells with every shudder.

He has only a moment of hesitation before the memory of silver eyes flashes in the back of his mind and he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around the girl. Even if it was slightly singed, it would hopefully help stave off hypothermia. In short order, he soon has her on his back, his cane clipped to his belt again, and is ready to trek off into less Grimm-infested forest when the girl suddenly squirms violently and cries out. 

“N… N-No…! Wait! M-My hat…!” 

It is with belated realization that Oscar realizes that he can hear normally again although his vision was just as bleary and tunneled as it was before. Perplexed enough over the girl’s desperation over a hat, he numbly looks for it among the forest floor. 

Once he finds it, Oscar carefully stoops to pick up the hat in the snow, an awkward game of shuffling just the right amount here or there, before passing it over his shoulder to the girl who hastily jammed it on her head over her tiny antlers with a look of mortification. She clung to him tightly after that. 

The boy bows his head slightly as he begins to walk, feeling a sudden heartbreak and hollow ache beating behind his ribs. The visible disparity and iniquity between Mantle and Atlas, human and faunus was still fresh in his mind. Even in Argus, Cordovan had refused their transport despite them accompanying Weiss in part because of her prejudice against Blake, who kept her ears uncovered. His throat felt tight at the thought that this severely wounded little girl who needed medical attention lived in a world where whether or not she had antlers _mattered_ when it came to the quality of her care. 

The snow was falling harder now. Oscar looked to the sky and had to blink the snowflakes out of his eyes. The world felt hazy. 

He remembered where he first heard voices—ha ha, _out loud_ voices—among the snowy forest landscape and started to make his way back there. The journey seemed to take forever. He was so tired and his vision was growing spottier. His feet felt like ice, heavy and frozen. His body was so incredibly sore and he was in miserable spirits. He couldn’t see Atlas in the sky nor could he see Salem’s approaching army. Somehow he’d blacked out and lost track of where he was and it seemed like he was alone in his head again. 

Which, in ordinary circumstances, would be a good thing, but Oscar had long ago accepted that things like ordinary and normal were things that no longer applied to him. Not even in a cool ‘like in the adventure books’ sort of way. He was even past the point of being afraid now, but it would have been comforting to have Oz with him to remind him what to watch out for. His body is shaking almost uncontrollably with the cold, but the thing that kept him going forward were the warm tears on his back. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he reassures the girl.

Ruby made a choice, every day, to keep looking forward and moving on because her friends had been killed and she couldn’t let herself do nothing about it. Jaune kept going because he—from what Oscar could piece together—had _loved_ Pyrrha and he loved his team and he would rather _die_ than let them down. Yang loved her sister, loved Blake, and would fight the entire world and nothing could stop her from trying to keep her small family safe. Not Grimm, not even Salem. 

He’s not sure what kept Weiss and Blake going, or Ren and Nora. They were harder to read. Nora was an explosion of personality and affection where Ren was almost the complete opposite, but he still knew so little about either of them. Weiss didn’t share a lot of her private feelings nor did Blake, but he’s certain that all of them had their own unshakable convictions. 

After all, they all knew the _truth_ and hadn’t turned away from their mission as impossible as it seemed. They all chose to keep going. It was difficult, but it hadn’t broken any of them.

He’s not sure how much time had passed but thinking of his friends and teammates helped. He could hardly keep his head up and everything seemed dark. The only thing he could hear was the crunch of snow underfoot, the cheery jingle of the girl’s earrings, and the distant sound of metal and sparks. 

An eternity later, he hears another sound. 

Grimm. Again.

Oscar blearily raises his head and grits his teeth. The girl whimpers on his back. He reaches for the cane on his belt. 

He hears scrambling and shouting around him and sees a sudden light. 

The Beowolf pounces. 

In a motion that surprised himself, Oscar smoothly ducks under the great gaping maw and razor sharp claws with girl in tow, fluidly extends his cane, and in one swift motion drives a powerful jab right into its throat. His dodge to the side is a more than unbalanced. Luckily, he’s not alone? …He thinks? Shapes and colors were beginning to blur together. Torchlight crowds closer around him, buzzing. 

The Grimm doesn’t make any noise after that, so either he’d defeated it or the blobby shapes around him did. Soon the shapes are talking to him and someone is lifting the girl off his back while his consciousness starts to disassociate. Oscar finds himself nodding at points of color and light saying ‘Okay’ to a lot to things he can’t hear and can’t mentally process right now. 

_“—ank you, you have no idea how—”_

_“—in’t see that com——you’re pretty strong, ki—”_

_“—ust look at him! The poor boy needs—”_

But whatever it was he needed, he didn’t find out. The high-pitched buzzing in his ears kept growing and growing until he started to feel unnaturally hot and his vision fell away and for the second time in a few hours (he thinks) he blacks out. 

Oscar eventually awakes to murmuring voices, white noise in the background of his consciousness. There’s static in his head, lead in his bones, but a feeling of distant comfort settling into his heart the longer he lays there. He blankly listens without comprehension or thought, merely existing as he was in the here and now, hearing words and syllables only as reassurances that he was still _alive_. 

Eventually he brought his hand up to his face to scratch an itch and belatedly discovered he was in bed under several layers of quilts and blankets. He deeply contemplates this new addition to his expanding world and soon forgets about the itch. Something about being in this bed felt so familiar and warm. 

The room was dark, but light streamed in from under the door to the other side of him.

He cogitates. 

He’s too hot, he realized. It’s too hot under here and there are too many blankets. His body felt heavy enough, he had to get rid of some of these before he died from Too Many Blankets. Struggling with the quilts he suddenly begins to better hear the words from behind the door, though he still couldn't seem to understand them. 

One of the voices from last night was talking. A man, maybe? Deep, scratchy voice. 

“—came out of the woods pale as a ghost carrying my little Umber on his back. Slew a Beowolf in one shot right before he passed out. Almost didn’t recognize who he was.” 

A familiar voice responded, distraught. It was a woman’s voice. For some reason he imagined it was the kind of voice that belonged to someone no nonsense, but also somehow playful and kind. The thought of the voice somehow felt so painfully familiar. It tugged at his heart, the fiber of his being, but he didn’t understand why. He still hadn’t fully come back to the world. 

He swings his legs out numbly from over the bed preparing to stand up but uncertain whether or not his heavy body could support him.

He only then notices the bandages on his legs and feet. 

“Doctor, what _happened_ to him?”

The doctor replies with a slow, heavy sigh. He sounded tired, like he hadn’t slept for days, maybe years. He also sounded kind of old, which, given Oscar’s circumstances, everyone was either kind of old or really young when he had an immortal spirit living in him but he was also just fourteen. 

“Honestly, I don’t know much more than that. He’s been missing, right? We found him a coupl'a towns over in the forest during the Grimm attack with that scorched combat gear and huntsman weapon on him. Definitely knew how to use it, too, from the looks of it. You said he never went to combat school?”

“No, never. My sister and her spouse never had the chance to send him to regular school, and when I got him, I didn’t have the money. But with my job working from home, at least I had the time to homeschool him myself.” 

“Well, whatever happened to him when he disappeared, he learned how to fight Grimm.” 

Now that he looked, he had bandages on his hands and arms too. Why? He didn’t remember getting injured there. He didn’t remember much from the last time he was awake either, though. Snow. Something black, something red. White moon in the sky, static in his soul. 

Oscar blinks. 

“Is he… going to be okay?” The second voice trembles with concern and his heart twists again and his chest tightens. He feels nothing but a compelling desire to reach out to the voice and reassure it. But first… 

He stared at the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, thinking hard about the concept of balance. 

“Physically? Yeah, sure, he’ll be fine. He’s been asleep longer than I thought he would be, but it looks like he was bone-tired long before that skirmish with the Grimm and catching this fever. Low grade hyporthermia too, bit’a frostbite, depleted aura. I’ll be honest, he sure gave us all a scare when he passed out like that. Me n’ my team took care of him though. Don’t you worry.” 

A moment of silence. An unspoken question stirs in the air. The doctor gives another heavy sigh. 

“Psych’logically, w-ell… now, it ain’t right to lie, but I don’t think we can be sure of anything until he wakes up. We dunno if he left willingly, looking to do something more than work on a farm all his life, an’ we don’t know if he was taken. All I know is, when I saw him come out of the trees with my daughter, he looked like he didn’t even know where he was. I reckon he was in a fugue state.”

 _Oh,_ Oscar finally realized, something clicking in his brain, language becoming accessible again. _They’re talking about me!_

Experimentally he gets to his feet and tries creeping closer to the door being careful of any would-be creaky floorboard. 

The doctor continued.

“Trauma can do some funny things to a person. He might never say what happened to him, or maybe he will. He might not even remember what happened if the trauma was great enough. Try to be patient with him. Give him time. Give him some space. He’ll tell you if and when he’s ready.” 

Trauma? These voices think he went through some kind of trauma? Oscar’s not sure what to think about that. Sure, things had been horrifying and difficult and frustrating and exhilarating all to different degrees but he’s not sure how he felt about the word trauma. Or how he felt about other people thinking he had trauma. That was a thing other people with serious problems had. Definitely not _him_. 

He frowns at the door. 

The doctor’s voice brightens, trying to put a positive spin on the other speaker’s worried perspective.

“It’s not all bad,” the doctor reassures her. “For what it’s worth he looks adequately nourished and otherwise healthy. With those skills, maybe he’ll go to combat school once he gets a little older because of this experience. Trauma doesn’t have to break people. Sometimes it just makes 'em different. Lets ‘em face what they’re afraid of.”

Oscar thinks of General Ironwood.

“Haven, maybe?” the doctor suddenly suggests. “It’s close enough. Or Beacon? Definitely not Atlas. If you let them think they know you, then they think they own you.”

They were talking like… Atlas wasn’t under attack… like… Beacon was still standing… 

How long had he been out? _Years?_ Had Beacon been rebuilt during that time? What happened with Salem? What about Mantle? And... Ruby? And the others? 

“So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t focus on what happened moreso than supporting him and his future. Got it. I won’t try to press him, even though I want to. Encourage future-thinking, accommodate new habits or behavior, respect his new experiences. Stay positive—” the voice was crisp, its tone gradually turning assertive, before almost as quickly faltering. “—What can I expect? It’s been so long. I don’t even know why he disappeared, if it was his own volition or… or something _I_ —” 

“Mood swings,” the doctor cuts in, not allowing the other voice to beat themselves up any further. “Listlessness, depression. Grief. Anger. He might go quiet. I know he’s always been kind of a quiet boy though, right? Anxious? Doesn’t say too much unless you’re talking to him specifically and won’t meet your eyes, from what I recall.”

Oscar would call him rude, but he wasn’t being dishonest about him being quiet and anxious, nor did he know Oscar was eavesdropping on him right now, so he could say whatever he wanted. All that stuff about mood swings and depression was nonsense though. 

He imagined the owner of the other voice nodding.

“Now, I’ll bring my girl over sometime. Even though he might go quiet, he’ll need a friend to talk to even if it’s about nothing. Also, she keeps yammering at me and asking if he’s alright. I thought it would just be easier to show her.”

Oscar was vaguely beginning to recall more from his most recent memories. Blood in the snow, an unraveled scarf, smoke and ash. A girl? Yeah, a faunus girl. With a hat. But what did she have to do with anything?

Oscar curiously reaches for the doorknob, his heart hammering relentlessly in his chest. He… he recognized this room. _This_ door, _that_ bed, _those_ quilts. His other senses came back to him and he smells what he knows to be a pot of a stew he’s eaten before.

“But I won’t take her over until he’s ready. She's been through quite a trauma too nd she still needs time getting used to her new leg. Bah! Atlas tech, but _my_ design.” 

He knows where he is and with sudden trepidation and anxiety opens the door to the light beyond and, because they were talking about _him_ , shyly peeks out. 

“Ah, there he is. The hero of the hour.” 

Oscar’s face freezes. 

"H-ello...?" he manages to respond, quietly and unclimactically.

His aunt—because that’s where he was, safe and sound in his aunt’s home, far far away from the horrors of… 

Oscar’s aunt Emma practically drops the dishes in her hands, and runs to envelop him in a tight, spine-crushing hug, half-sobbing, half-scolding him.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again! You scared me half to death! Oh, Oscar!” 

“Um,” Oscar says into aunt Emma’s collarbone, speaking for the first time in… 

…Honestly what was the point in trying to keep track anymore. 

His throat felt dry. 

“Give the lad some breathing room, m’dear.” 

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, Oscar.” 

His aunt backs away, her hands still hovering above his arms like she would hug him again at any moment. Oscar smiles brightly at her.

Oscar’s attention was soon drawn to the man sitting at his aunt’s kitchen table. He was extremely tall even though he was seated, portly, and had red beard turning gray that he’d split and created two braids from. While the boy squints in the bright light and tries to place him, the man chuckles to himself, eyes crinkling kindly, and starts to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

“Don’t worry your little head over trying to remember who I am. You’ve been through a lot, Oscar. I think we can all forgive you for needing some time to get up to speed. The name’s Ed. You saved my daughter.”

The man picks up the glass and gestures for him to take it. Oscar’s mind goes blank at his words as he lets go of his aunt’s hand and reaches for the water. 

“You carried her through the forest on your back? Splinted her leg?”

…

 _“Ohh.”_

Ugh! Oscar’s embarrassed at his slow uptake and wished he could back out of this conversation and try again when he didn't feel so... _everything_. Fighting Grimm good, social interaction bad. He takes a sip of water. And then another. And then so many sips after that soon the glass was empty. He hands it back to Ed and he refills it. 

“Oh, so she’s alright then? That’s good…”

Oscar touches his chest, surprised at how much lighter he felt. His aunt smiled adoringly down at him, with pride. For some reason it was embarrassing to see her like that too so he suddenly found reason to inspect the floorboards.

“Yeah. We couldn’t save the leg, but she’ll be zipping around in no time once she gets used to the new prosthetic. Kids can bounce back right quick.” 

“Oh, that’s… yeah, that’s good. I’m glad for her.” He adds, looking up, thinking of Yang, “Prosthetics have really come a long way these days.” 

Ed watches at him thoughtfully and gestures to one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Sit down, kid. We don’t want you passing out on us again. And… your aunt and I would like to talk if you feel up to it.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” 

He sits. 

“Oscar,” his aunt starts hesitantly with an uncertainty he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before, “are you… okay?” 

“…I’m… Yeah? Sure?” 

Ed butts in.

“Only you’ve been missing for months and you come back with a thousand-yard stare looking like you just came home from war. Where have you been?”

Prompted by the question, Oscar searches his memories and with a startling realization, bolted to his feet, blood drained from his face.

“Oh no! Atlas! What’s happening there right now? I’ve got to get back!”

“Atlas?” his aunt starts, positively startled. “As far as I know, the only thing that’s been happening are election campaigns and another one of Weiss Schnee’s concerts.” 

“But the elections already happened!” 

“Whoa there,” Ed cuts in again. “I know it’s gonna be hard, but try to calm down a bit, kid. Look.” 

He hands Oscar a newsletter from the neat pile of mail on his aunt’s table. It was about who was running for a seat on the council next… next year. Next year? That’s not possible. Oscar was there. They definitely already held elections; Jaques Schnee won. Criminally, with the help of Watts, but it didn’t change any of his feelings about it nor the events that followed. 

Oscar checked the date on the letter, staring in overwhelming shock, his thoughts quickly spiraling. His hands started shaking. 

“But the date…”

“That’s right,” Ed gives an encouraging nod, clasping his hands between his knees as he leaned forward a bit. “Last week. Like I said, you’ve been through a lot and some of your thoughts and memories might be all scrambled up and distorted. Time, too. You have to take it slow.”

His aunt was nodding along with Ed, so it seemed like this was a fact for her too. And his aunt would _never_ lie to him, even as a joke. Playful sarcasm, sure. But no lies. They were looking at him with… with _pity_ and he has never felt worse in his entire life. 

But this was unbelievable! It couldn’t be right. The elections can’t _not_ have happened, because they already happened! Unless… 

Here, he feels, was a good time it would be comforting to have the wizard that took up residence in the attic of his headspace to come back. Was… time travel… a _thing?_ Did we go back in time? He’d read fiction books, but it was all in the genre: _fiction._ Is he going crazy for real this time? Did he imagine everything that he thought happened?

What about Ozpin? In that brief instance where he heard his voice again, he felt like they were finally connected—that they were both focused on a mutual goal, that he wasn’t fighting for his own identity but rather they were working in tandem. He felt they had both been committed to stopping Salem—stopping, not stalling—while looking up at Atlas full of purpose. 

Even Ozpin wouldn’t make them activate some hidden unknown time magic semblance right then, even if he was even capable of something like that. He just knew it. 

Directing these thoughts louder and louder at the place he imagined Oz to be in his head, he still received no response. 

Oscar stares morosely at the newsletter mute and unresponsive until Ed gently pries it from his grasp. 

“So you were in Atlas this whole time, boy?” 

_“Don’t call me boy!”_ Oscar snaps in an unexpected burst of anger, a memory of Hazel flitting through his mind. It was different when Nora said “cute boy Oz” or sometimes embarrassing when girls he didn’t know called him a “cute farm boy.” Being called ‘boy’ by another man who towered over him even when sitting made him feel unexpectedly anxious and small. He didn’t entirely know why. Oscar takes a deep breath and runs his hands over his face. 

Ed and Aunt Emma share gazes.

“Sorry,” he apologizes through his palms, voice much more soft and with a touch of shame. “Don’t call me that, _please._ ”

They wait in silence until Oscar calms down and sits back down, folding his hands together on the table. He sits up straighter than he ever used to although he was still avoiding eye contact by looking at his hands. Aunt Emma goes over to tend to the pot on the stove before turning off the burner and serving each of them a bowl of stew. 

“Yes,” Oscar tells them finally, feeling defeated, staring at a lump of potatoes in the bowl. “I was in Atlas, but not just Atlas. I got separated from my—wait! My Scroll!”

He pats his pockets only to find he wasn’t wearing his combat gear and didn’t even ¬have pockets to check. These were… his old pajamas? If he still had his Scroll maybe he could contact the others! Oscar’s not sure whether he thinks he can contact them from here and now or of there and then, but it was still something he could _try._

Ed reaches into his own pocket and sadly offers its contents to Oscar.

“We found it in your coat after you passed out. Think it might’ve been cracked earlier when you were…” Ed pauses, thoughtful, then waves his hand vaguely, “…travelling. I did my best to recover it for you, but it looks like all the data’s been scratched. I can fix the hardware for you, but it’ll have to be factory reset in order to work again.” 

Oscar stares forlornly at the cracked Scroll cradled in his palms, despair rolling in. His past, no, the future? It had to have existed, it had happened to him. Everyone else had been there too. He couldn’t just make up all of that, could he? This was… this was honestly worse than the first few days Oz had started talking to him. 

He holds onto his Scroll with one hand and rakes his fingers through his hair with the other.

The man watches him for a minute before getting up from his chair and going over to the coat rack. 

“Well, I think that’s enough for one night. Don’t want to upset the b—upset _Oscar_ any more tonight. You take care of that fever, okay? I’ll come back to check on you two in a few days.”

He looks over his shoulder. 

“By the way, Oscar. My daughter wrote a get-well-soon card for you. She’s been real worried about your recovery. I left it on the nightstand in your aunt’s room. Please do her a kindness and read it.”

He shrugs on his coat, wraps a scarf tightly around his neck, and reached for the door. 

Soon, Oscar was alone in the farm house with his aunt. 

“I—” Oscar starts.

“I—” his aunt begins. 

They stare at each other for a moment. There’s so much he wants to say and so much in his heart he knew he couldn’t properly express. The gears in his mind halt, eyes watching the face of his aunt who seemed similarly at a loss of words now that they were alone together. 

Oscar feels his eyes tear up.

But it seemed he didn’t need to say anything at all. Soon enough, he was wrapped in his aunt’s warm embrace once again, her chin on top of his head, her hands on his back. She squeezed him tightly, her own tears falling into her hair. 

_“Welcome home,”_ she murmurs into his hair. 

“Auntie Em…” Oscar near whispers, trying to look up at her. 

She reluctantly pulls herself away from him, sniffs, wipes a tear away, and then puts her hands on her hips. 

“Now you eat that stew before it goes cold, young man, or I’ll be very cross with you.” 

Oscar gives a shaky laugh and a shy, wobbly smile.


	3. Conviction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha ha, this might have been up sooner but my hard drive died.

_“It’s right behind that door.”_

_Ozpin is dreaming. He’s with James in the vault under Atlas. For some reason, his dream-self is so small. He’s hardly more than half of James’ height, his eye level barely reaches the General’s ribcage. Was he a child in this dream? It wouldn’t be the first time. Might not be the last. Every childhood felt unique and not even he was an expert on the why factor in the contents of dreams._

_“The staff of creation,” he breathes in awe, his voice echoing in the vast chamber that contained the relic. A voice he didn’t recognize, had never owned, and was alien to him. It sounded so young. Vulnerable. It was a voice that had never been his. It felt like someone else’s entirely. Someone… new._

_“I hoped bringing you down here might jog some memories,” James was telling him. Of what? the critical part of Ozpin’s sleeping mind wondered. “After all, it was your idea to use the Staff to lift Atlas off the ground.”_

_He craned his head, looking curiously up at James. The General looks older. Tired. There was something about the look in his eyes he didn’t like. Something cold, something hungry, something fearful, but nothing he thinks that hadn’t been there before. And certainly nothing lay within them that Ozpin didn’t already worry about. Distrust. Disloyalty. Betrayal. Of all the people who were committed to his cause, James was the one he had to worry about the most. After all, he had the most advanced military at his disposal and after earning his rank through hard work and sacrificing much of his body for his kingdom, he had distinct feelings about being in charge, disagreeing with his authority, and how wars should be conducted._

_“I thought Gravity Dust kept Atlas afloat.”_

_He felt the confusion his dream-self experienced, but why did he say that? Why didn’t he know that? Why was James the one telling him this? Why had James taken him down here in the first place? This had never happened, and it was too specific and too detailed to be just a dream… wasn’t it?_

_Was this a memory…? The future? But then… No, it had to be a dream._

_“That’s the public story.” There’s a small note of amusement in James’ voice. “But with the Staff we have a constant, seemingly limitless energy source. Oz once speculated it could take us as high as we wanted. To tell you the truth, that served as the inspiration for the Amity Project. Get a communication tower up in the sky, higher than the Grimm can survive, so we never lose contact with each other again.”_

_“But you’re not using the Staff to raise Amity,” said the voice who was not Ozpin._

_“The Staff can only be used for one purpose at a time. We’re going to have to do Amity the old-fashioned way, Dust and all.”_

_Amity Coliseum? But that had already happened! It couldn’t be the future because Amity hadn’t been raised yet, but it couldn’t be the past, he’d never been this voice. Dream or memory? Fabrication or reality?_

_“It feels strange. Knowing that part of me helped come up with all this.”_

_The feeling of strangeness was tenfold on Ozpin’s part. Who exactly was this voice his dream-self inhabited? There wasn’t anything in the dream he could see himself in. He was just a small child… with James. The General didn’t seem to be treating his dream-self like one of his students, but he also didn’t seem to be treating him as he had known him for years either._

_Why did he feel a flurry of disorientation over James’ name? Why did the more intimate ‘James’ which he’d been calling him for years and an indicator of their friendship feel so unused and unfamiliar. Why did ‘Ironwood’ sit in the back of his mind, feeling more comfortable and professional? Why did he feel so conflicted over his name?_

_“You’ll get used to it, I’m sure. Eventually, you won’t even know who’s who anymore.”_

_“…Right.”_

_In the dream, he felt hurt._

_“We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I wish I could ask Ozpin what he thought of all this.”_

_In the back of his mind, the part of him that wasn’t weighed down with dream fog became alarmed. He felt a rising panic in his chest. Not his dream chest but his real chest. He was asleep, but he could also feel the sweat on his hands. Something was wrong. It was a dream, but it was also a memory. It was a dream but it was also—_

_“Well, I can tell you what I think,” his dream-self responds without missing a beat, touching his hand to his heart. “The path you’re heading down where you’re the only one with the answers, where you do the thing you think is right no matter the cost, it’s not going to take you anywhere good.”_

_The voice was sincere. Earnest. It doesn’t sound like something Ozpin would say. His feet arrive next to James and he finds himself craning his head once again to see his face. But these weren’t the words James wanted to hear. His expression darkened as he turned from him and strode away, back the way they came as if blowing off this response._

_“We have to stop Salem. Nothing matters more.”_

_“Some things matter more, I think,” the voice disagrees, small but certain. James halts. Ozpin stills. The small voice continues. “Keeping our humanity. It’s what makes us different from her.”_

_Something in Ozpin’s mind and heart go quiet._

_“Sometimes I worry that’s her greatest advantage. Without humanity, does she still feel fear? Does she ever hesitate? When Salem hit -... . .-con, even with all my ... .... .. .--. ..., all of m -.-- / ... --- .-.. -.. .. . .-.s, I was no match for her. I’ve never felt so helpless, the way she… - ---ld me she was - .... . .-. .”_

_The dream started to grow haunting and bizarre. Distorted. Like a recording that had been taped over so many times that earlier recordings bled through like ectoplasm. Time shifted. Both he and James were ghostly figments in a quick cut horror movie. At some point, time in the horror movie slows down enough for him to register that he was standing at the edge of the platform in the vault, James in front of him, eyes lifeless and devoid of emotion, pistol drawn, and then he was falling, falling, fall—_

_The film snaps back into place._

_“It’s okay to be afraid,” his dream-self says, and somehow Ozpin finds himself feeling comforted despite the hammering of his heart in his chest and the lingering memory of those eyes. Whoever his dream-self was and whatever role he was playing, he sounded so reassuring for someone so small. “You just can’t let that fear control you.”_

_“I am n --- - going to end up like Li --- -.h . .-rt. …Do you believe in me?”_

_Another distortion. Time sped up, then slowed to a crawl, repeating and looping back in on itself._

_“To you, it’s General. —it’s General. —General. Gen—eral. Gen— --. . -.”_

_The recording fixes itself once again and James’ voice is replaced by his own foreign one._

_“I do believe in you, but, not only you.” His dream-self is gentle and yet somehow so firm in his convictions. Maybe more convinced than Ozpin himself. His dream-self strides forward to the lift, making eye contact with James until he passes him. He steps on the lift and turns around. “I think the best thing you could do is sit down and talk with the people you’re most afraid to.”_

_James looks to him, eyes widening in surprise before a hint of approval crosses his face._

_“Now you are -... . --. .. -. -. .. -. --. / - --- / ... ---und like him.”_

_The lift rises._

So does Ozpin, touching his chest where a phantom pain that was not his nestled close to his heart, a blossom of temporal fear and uncertainty. When he wakes fully, he finds himself staring blearily out his window and watched as the pre-dawn light slowly descended upon the courtyard, banishing all shadows before it. 

He drums his fingers on the windowsill. 

_You just can't let that fear control you,_ echoes in his mind. 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. 

Oscar opened his eyes and saw the sun. He saw the acres of farmland rolling out beneath him from his second story bedroom window in the barn. He saw the way the ice and snow glittered in the light and the cloudless blue sky above, untroubled and all-encompassing. Frost formed on the outside of the window pane and his breath fogged up the glass. He’d stared hard at all the things he had known and loved before and felt an ache in his soul. 

There was no place like home. 

But being home didn’t relieve him of his and Oz’s impossible mission. Being home didn’t win this infinite war. It didn’t change what he had to do or what he had to face. 

It just gave him some more _time._

So here were the facts: 

One: somehow Oscar went back in time before the fall of Beacon.

Two: there didn’t seem to be another past Oscar hanging around that was pre-Fall and it really worried him because what if pre-Fall Oscar was there but got lost or something and he was going to meet a younger version of himself without Ozpin? Would th _at destroy time? Or maybe he got misplaced in time too and is there a space-time continuum like sci-fi novels tell him and is he messing everything up and if pre-Fall Oscar is in the future, and post-Fall Oscar is here does that mean pre-Fall Oscar is dealing with Salem?_

Three: _Breathe,_ Oscar. _Focus._

Four: As far as he could tell, past Oscar had gone mysteriously missing some months ago and no one knew anything about where he went or what happened to him, so the people around him seem to have assumed he, post-Fall Future-Oscar, was pre-Fall Past-Oscar who had gone into a fugue state after some sort of psychological or traumatic break and who only recently came back. Oscar didn’t remember ever going missing in his life like this, so he was very _very_ concerned about what happened to Other Oscar. Regardless, it was a story that was convenient but one which he struggled over. 

It felt _dishonest._ Like he was keeping secrets, but he couldn’t tell anyone he was from the future, what he had experienced, and his mission. He accepted Ozpin as the voice in his head being the person he said he was, and others in the know validated his reality, but telling other ordinary people who weren’t involved, let alone the mention of time-travel was going to make people worried and consider medical treatment he didn’t need. Especially if he couldn’t produce Ozpin anymore. 

Five: it was selfish, but he’d decided he wasn’t going to tell his Aunt. There was a difference between sharing the truth with people who were already involved and were hunters-in-training or actual licensed hunters, sharing it with the whole world or a kingdom when you’ve made preparations for the fallout, versus telling innocent people who weren’t involved and who might be killed just for knowing about it.

Six: As far as he could figure out where he’d fallen into the _exact_ timeline, it was the winter before Beacon fell. The only member of their group he could find news about was Weiss because she was the most public. She was still performing concerts and hadn’t even been enrolled in Beacon yet. She was seventeen, so she’d probably start in the fall. 

Seven: it felt weird and skeevy to be looking up information about Weiss on his Scroll. He really didn’t like it and he hoped she could forgive him. 

Eight: Ozpin still wasn’t responding in their mutual headspace, so Oscar sometimes thinks about what he _would_ have said or _might_ have said about their predicament and what they should do and then argues against his fictional version in his head. Oscar had his points and so did imaginary Ozpin, but it was _Oscar_ who got to make the decision.

Nine: He still had to stop Salem. Win this war. 

So there were only a few options left to him. 

_You need to get to Beacon,_ the Ozpin he imagined said when he was thinking about what he should do. 

Oscar threw his hands out almost aggressively, “How?” 

_Enroll,_ his imagination supplied, amused. It was incredible because his imaginary Ozpin was almost as cryptic and unhelpful as the real one. Oscar felt he needed to get better at arguing with himself. 

“Yeah, okay, with what transcript? At my age?”

_Ruby Rose enrolled when she was fifteen. Early acceptance is possible for the right candidate. You just have to be the right candidate._

Right, of course. There was a practical exam. You had to be of a certain age usually, but…

Oscar glances at the cane by his side.

…But he supposed if he were able to peak Past Ozpin’s _interest,_ then it might make him the right kind of candidate.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. 

“Oscar?” his aunt called out. “Can I come in?”

“You already climbed the whole way up the ladder,” Oscar said when he opened the door to let his aunt in. He smiled a little mischievously. 

“It’s been a while since I was last in here,” his aunt said, looking around curiously. Oscar goes back to sitting on his bed as her eyes wander. She glances over the books crammed into his bookshelf and at the one he’d been reading on the bed without apparent interest. His aunt had probably expected him to be reading. She eventually adds, looking at the news articles he’d pinned to his wall, “Well, this is new. “

“Oh, um—” 

She reads off a few headlines: “Serial Killer Tyrian Callows Still at Large. Arthur Watts, Atlas Scientist, Deceased. Weiss Schnee Considering Beacon Instead of Atlas Despite Criticism—oh! That’s a cute little picture of her you’ve found. Beacon Academy to Host Vytal Festival in the Coming Year, Unrest in Mantle Rises, Terrorist Group White Fang Increase Activity in Vale. Oscar, most of these are some really serious articles.” 

“I, um… Well, you see…”

His aunt sits on the bed with him, the book he was reading in-between them. She reaches out to hold his hand. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Oscar.” 

His shoulders stiffened. 

“What?” 

She squeezes his hand, looking into his eyes. 

“I know it’s hard, being back. I know there are things you aren’t telling me, maybe you can’t tell me. Maybe you’re embarrassed or scared or don’t want me to think less of you. But I need you to know that I will never stop loving you. I know you went through something terrible—I won’t ask, but whenever you decide to tell me, even if it’s years later, I’ll listen. I know you’re growing up. You saved that little girl in the snowstorm from the Grimm. You’ve gotten so strong and so brave and I know your parents would be proud of you.” 

Oscar eyes the rug on the floor, smiling, but a little embarrassed too.

“And it’s adorable to know my little nephew has a crush on Weiss Schnee!” His aunt moves her hand in an elaborate gesture that suggested she was nudging a crowd of people aside. “Move outta the way ladies and gentlefolk, Oscar Pine is here to sweep the lady off her feet!”

_“Auntie Em! It’s not like that!”_

His aunt laughs at his burning red face and Oscar fears the more he protests the more his aunt is going to think it’s true. Weiss was on there because no one else was writing articles about Yang or Nora or Ruby or Qrow or anyone else! Beyond finding out Qrow had been a legitimate professor at Signal academy, there was nothing more said about him publicly other than he was often out in the field on missions. And Oscar knew what kinds of missions those were. 

His aunt puts her hands out in front of her as a calming gesture. 

“Okay, okay. It’s not _like that~_ ”

She didn’t believe him. He could just about die from embarrassment. He could almost feel Weiss’ withering gaze from across the annuls of time itself and felt a chill go down his spine. The moon rises higher in the sky. 

“I’m…” Oscar starts, words thoughtful, mind elsewhere, like his aunt wasn’t even in the room, “going to go to Beacon.” 

His aunt seems to think about this. 

“That’s a long way away.” 

“There’s… something I have to do.” 

Oscar opens his mouth to say something further and then stops. He tries to corral his thoughts in order before speaking. His aunt was trying her best and she deserved his best in return. He couldn’t tell her a truth that would endanger her, but he didn’t want to lie. 

His aunt trusted him. 

Oscar looked at the moon outside. 

Recently, Oscar had found himself thinking about the nature of trust. What did it really mean to trust someone? He didn’t think it meant blind faith, like the kind Ozpin’s inner circle had possessed for the old headmaster. It wasn’t’ a loyalty that was never questioned or a reverence that never wavered. Instead, Oscar thought it felt a lot more like Qrow and Ruby. 

After the stolen airship had crashed through the trees and Oscar had been guided through a successful crash-landing, he had thought they were done for. Ruby, groaning, had stumbled out of the airship and onto the snowy ground outside while he helped Maria get out of her seatbelt and hovered uncertainly around to see if she was going to be okay.

From the corner of his eye he’d seen Ruby briefly glance at the two of them and then Oscar found himself watching as she strode away, mouth set in a grim line of determination, relic bouncing against her hip.

Qrow darted after her, grasping desperately at her hand to stop her from putting herself right back in danger again. Ruby’s uncle was a lot of things, not all of them good, but if there was one thing that defined the best in him, it was his love for his nieces. 

_“Ruby! Stop!”_

The girl turned slowly, deliberately, to face her uncle, and gazed unwaveringly into his eyes. Her response is quiet, but Oscar still heard the words she said to him, felt the weight and gravitas behind them. 

_“You need to trust me.”_

Her voice was soft. Vulnerable. But there was also an underlying spark to it, something powerful that refused to give in, something unshakeable that didn’t give up. There was something in Ruby that saw things in a way other people didn’t. 

From behind, he sees Qrow’s shoulders stiffen and then, touched by something in her expression, bows his head slightly, letting go of Ruby with something like shame, or resignation. As if he were sending her to her death. 

But he still made that choice to believe in her. He let Ruby go. 

Trust didn’t mean lack of doubt. It meant belief _despite_ doubt. 

Oscar finally speaks. 

“When I…” he tries to think of an appropriate phrase, “was gone… I met a lot of people who became very important to me. I’ve been to Atlas, I’ve been to Mantle. I’ve been to Haven and Argus and lots of other places. I can’t say why. I need… I need you to trust me, but I can’t say why. I’ve seen what people can be like when they’re… afraid. I’ve seen… grief, and horror, and heartbreak. Rage. Despair. But I’ve also seen hope. I’ve seen unity.”

In turn, he remembers the faces of his friends and allies, even enemies. Jaune, in grief, grabbing him and pushing him back against the wall. Weiss, in horror, Ruby covering her with a blanket after discovering the atrophied dead at the farm. Qrow, in despair, picking up yet another bottle of alcohol and Ruby looking on, her heart breaking just a little bit more each time. There was rage in Hazel who was so torn up inside, his grief and anguish dripping from his soul even if he didn’t feel the physical pain.

But just for a moment, Robyn and Ironwood’s hands had intertwined, there had been hope and unity. And that’s what he chose to believe in. Trust. It was the one thing Ozpin couldn’t do and the one thing Oscar could. Ozpin had probably imagined fighting Salem alone at the end of it all, if he ever got so far as to face her again, the victor of a secret war. Oscar always imagined facing her with the others by his side. He felt the weight of defeating Salem on his shoulders, but he knew Ruby and the others felt that weight just as much as he did. He still worried about becoming Ozpin, of eventually forgetting how to be himself, but not as much. 

Perhaps because he felt there was so much _more_ to him now. 

“I want to be a part of that. Hope. Unity. There’s people in this world I want to protect,” he tells his aunt finally. He gestures at the news articles he'd been collecting on his wall. “I can’t do _nothing._ ” 

His aunt thinks this over for a few minutes, watching the moon outside like he just done earlier. 

“Is the reason you can’t tell me why because there’s something you’re ashamed of?”

“No.” 

She hugged him.

“Then I trust you.” 

Sometimes, it was that simple. 

\---

Later, when he’d climbed into bed and stared at the map of stars in the black sky outside his window, he realized he needed to modify it. The Long Memory. At least cosmetically. He had enough basic mechanical knowledge from fixing farming equipment every winter that he felt comfortable attempting the task and at least _one_ of Oz’s incarnations had probably been an engineer, considering (here Oscar mentally makes a wide sweeping gesture in his imagination) how he’d practically come up with and constructed the schools. Oscar could probably figure out how to draft a new design. Or at least make the Long Memory _as_ the Long memory less obvious. Going into Beacon with a dubious background below the age requirement was possible. Going into Beacon with the Long Memory exactly as it was and is would be asking for trouble and unwanted scrutiny. 

No. He wanted it recognizable to _Ozpin_ , but different enough that a casual observer might think it was just _inspired by_ the Long Memory. Ruby’s weapon was based off Qrow’s and Qrow had been inspired by Maria, so it had to be a normal thing Hunters did. He also didn’t want another Hazel to come after him just for wielding this cane.  


Besides, if he was the next Oz and all the responsibility and hardship that entailed, then he… kind of… wanted to leave a little bit of himself in this endless legacy of war and rebirth. Something not quite _Oz._

He felt almost embarrassed to even think that. 

He fell asleep. 

Umber’s thank you letter had been simple and written in neat but bubbly script. 

_Dear Oscar,_

_Thank you for saving me and getting my hat. My name is Umber. Do you remember me? Me and Daddy used to drive by your farm on the way to the market. We would wave to you and you would wave back. Daddy said you were lost for a while, but you’re back now! I hope I can see you again when you’re better.  
_

_Sincerely_

_Umber_

She’d drawn a picture of him carrying her in the snowstorm. Or at least that’s what he assumed he was looking at, considering the position of the green scribble in relation to the orange blob. It wasn’t his place to judge children’s art anyway. It wasn’t like he could draw very well either. 

Oscar pinned the letter to his wall, smiling. 

True to his word, Ed came back to visit them in a few days and this time he brought his daughter. 

“Hey, kid,” he says gruffly after they had climbed up and Oscar opened his bedroom door to them. “Your aunt said you didn’t mind if we came to see you in here. You look a lot better.” 

Oscar, even though he’d known they were coming and had the time to prepare himself for company still felt a little uneasy because he’d gotten distracted reading books instead of mentally preparing, timidly replied, “All thanks to you, Mr. Ed.”

Umber’s eyes lit up when she saw Oscar, but soon after she hid shyly behind her dad’s bulky frame, small hand clutching his sleeve and fidgeting. Her dad wrapped his hand around hers and gave her a gentle tug so that she’d take a step closer to the threshold.

“And you look like you’re in good spirits! Even better! Can we come in? It’s quite a climb all the way up here.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’m… sorry, about last time.” 

“Don’t sweat it kid. You wouldn’t be the first huntsman I’ve treated who came back from the brink all weird and confused. People get scary emotional after stuff like that. I can’t blame you.”

“Huntsman…?” Oscar begins to say before shortly trailing off thoughtfully as he let the two of them into his room and returns to the place where he’d been reading on his bed. He supposed he at least looked the part of a hunter even if he didn’t always feel like it. 

He’s brought back out of his thoughts when Ed abruptly follows up with a question. 

“You fight Grimm?”

“Yeah, I suppose?”

“You gonna fight more?”

“…Probably.”

“Then you’re a huntsman.” 

Oscar has to think about that but he isn't given a lot of time before Ed's little girl walks up to him. 

“Hi there,” he says gently when Umber’s uncertain and somewhat unsteady gait brought her closer to him on the foot of the bed and she peered at him with big, expressive eyes. If they didn’t have wooden floorboards, Oscar might have been unable to tell the auditory difference between the little girl’s footsteps. _Prosthetic,_ he reminds himself, even though he couldn’t see it under the girl’s big orange sweater dress and loose black trousers. When she gets as close to him as she dares, she clasps her hands together, glances at his face, and then eyes her feet as she talks. 

“H… Hi. I’m Umber. Um…”

“Hello, Umber,” he says politely, making sure to smile and speak evenly. She seemed a lot like him at that age. Painfully shy, anxious, and nervous. Not that he wasn’t those things now, but he wanted to put her at ease. “My name is Oscar.” 

“Um…! Did you get my letter? Daddy said he gave it to you, but, you know, he sometimes forgets things.” 

Her voice is rushed and a little squeaky. 

_“Hey!”_ Ed responds, turning away from inspecting Oscar's growing collection of articles. His finger had been tracing an article thoughtfully about an ongoing court case detailing an instance of discriminatory business practices in the real estate industry targeting faunus. Then he spots his daughter’s letter on the wall. Ed points to it with an exaggerated gesticulation of both his arms as if presenting it to an audience. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” she responds in kind, her voice only about a decibel louder than the volume of her speaking voice and without any hint of apology. She turns back to Oscar, hand cupping one side of her mouth, and tells him conspiratorially in a whisper, “It’s true.” 

Oscar can’t help but laugh. 

Umber spots the book on his bed.

“What are you reading?” she asks. 

Oscar grabs the book and looks it over in his hands.

“It’s a book about the history of the kingdom of Atlas. You know where that is, right?” 

“Y-Yeah…! It’s in the north. It’s supposed to be reaaally cold, right?” 

Ed continues to poke about in his tiny room while he talked to Umber. Oscar didn’t really mind since it wasn’t like he had anything embarrassing hidden. Or even very many places to hide anything besides the large chest at the other side of his room, which… mostly kept more books and summer clothing. 

“I was wondering why," Ed commented, finding the books in the chest. "for a farm boy, you seemed so well spoken and educated and now I know."

“The library van still makes it out here every two weeks,” Oscar replied mildly, unbothered. Ed seemed like the kind of guy who sometimes liked to rile people up on purpose. While having a grown man rifle around his room while he was there was invasive and annoying, knowing that killed any flicker of irritation over it.

It didn’t help that he was desensitized to the idea of invasion of his privacy due to the immortal wizard living in his head. The wizard was out at the moment, but that didn't change anything. 

Ed only grunted and moved onto the pieces of paper Oscar had left laying on the top of his little bookcase. 

“Oscar, look!” 

Umber pulled up the cuff of her trouser to show Oscar the prosthetic leg. 

“Oh wow,” he commented, not entirely certain how to respond. From what he knew, Yang had a hard time accepting the loss of her arm and recovering her spirit, needing a lot of time to work out her feelings and frustration. Oscar could kind of relate to being emotional about losing a part of yourself, since that was apparently the future he had to look forward to. 

In comparison, Umber didn’t seem to have had any trouble adjusting considering the little amount of time she’s had with it. Carefully, he added, “You were able to climb all the way up here with that, huh?” 

“All by myself!” Umber beams. “Daddy designed it!” 

Oscar turns to look at Ed, raising an eyebrow. 

“You design prosthetics?”

“Weapons and armor, too. My pieces are works of art. I might be a doctor but I'm also an artist!” He flaps the papers he was holding, an immense pride creeping into his voice. The papers he was flapping around were Oscar’s concept sketches of possible alterations to the Long Memory’s design. “You really want to keep these clockwork innards visible, huh? These specs are a lil’ rough but I think I get what you’re goin’ for. I thought maybe you were doing upgrade sketches, but this is all…”

“Visual,” Oscar supplied. 

“Superficial. You could easily add a Dust chamber to this or make it so it can fire rounds.”

_Oscar hears a gunshot go off in his head and remembers a pain in his chest._

“No,” he says more quickly than he meant to, his eyes going unexpectedly wide as he brushes a hand against his chest reminding himself that he is _safe, safe, safe._ “I-I like it how it is.” 

Ed shrugs and continues to inspect the design, humming. Impatiently, Umber hops up on the foot of the bed with Oscar, smiling at him and more than happy to have his attention once again. Her trouser cuff was still rolled up. 

“Do you want to look at the pictures?” Oscar asks her, picking up the book and opening it in his lap. 

“Oh! That’s a lot of snow!” she says, swinging her legs back in forth. 

“Yeah, the cold of Solitas will kill you in a matter of minutes without your aura to protect you.” 

“Aura…” Umber murmurs to herself. 

Ed watches them from behind Oscar’s designs with a scrutinizing gleam in his eye. 

Later, Oscar’s aunt calls them all for dinner and Umber excitedly climbs down the ladder _all by herself._ Oscar would have quickly followed after her if her father hadn’t blocked the way, sitting down on the wooden platform, the soles of his shoes resting on the rungs of the ladder. He looks up at Oscar. 

“You’re a good kid, Oscar.” 

“Wh-What? That’s sudden.” 

“You haven’t asked me about my daughter’s antlers.”

“How do—?” 

“You idiot, you think I don’t talk to my own daughter?” 

“Oh. Well t-that doesn’t mean—” 

“Yeah. It don’t have to mean anything. Except you’ve got articles on your wall about civil rights violations and my daughter’s letter. You’re a good kid who’s real bad at takin’ compliments and treats my daughter, a faunus, with kindness and respect, who spent a whole thirty minutes patiently teaching her about Atlas and helping her with all the big words and who don’t look at her funny trying to see under her hat. A lotta boys—” 

He stops himself, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. 

“Sorry. A lotta men are uncomfortable with being kind. I think it takes more courage to be kind in a cruel world than it does to be strong in an unkind one. An’ not a lot of strong people are kind; not a lot of kind people are strong, either. You happen to be both.”

Ed’s shoulders sag and he stares down at the bales of hay below them as if he were seeing something else entirely. He sadly clasps his hands in his lap and Oscar somehow felt the weight of an unspoken history settle on him. 

“You shouldn’t be so reluctant to express yourself and your opinion.” 

Oscar is quiet for a moment and then, without knowing why, softly admits in a very small, shaky voice, “The last person I had a difference of opinion with... shot me point blank and I fell down several miles of an underground shaft into the open tundra of Solitas. I’m… not afraid of expressing my opinion, and I think I’d do it again, I’m just…” 

Oscar wavers and then flaps a hand vaguely. 

“…reluctant to get shot.” 

There’s a very long silence before Ed speaks again.

“Oh.” 

Something seems to click in Ed’s brain. “ _Oh._ So that’s why you—"

“I think of it as a defensive weapon. Parry, strike, protect. Meant to kill Grimm, not people. No blade, no bullets. My enemy isn’t other people, even if they want to be. Division between people destroys us all. We’re stronger together.” 

Ed suddenly has a lot to think about. 

“You’re really a rare kid, Oscar.”

They boy opens his mouth to respond but doesn’t get the chance. 

“Doctor Eddie! Oscar! _Dinner time! And wash those hands!”_

The two of them hastily get a move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments so far!


	4. Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You: when is Oscar getting to Beacon?
> 
> Me: laughs nervously.

_“You, Miss Nikos, have a choice to make.”_

_The voice isn’t his and Oscar instantly recognizes this as a memory. One of Ozpin’s. The dream was more intense than others he’s had. He felt like he was actually **there**. He tasted the thick tension in the air, felt a chilled, creeping dread trickle through his body. _

_A red-haired girl in golden armor was wiping away a treacherous tear, giving one last mournful look at Jaune’s back—and that’s who it was too. Jaune, kind and brave, full of grief and heartbreak. Jaune, hair the color of straw and smarter than people gave him credit for._

_The teenager didn’t turn to look back, focused on the depths of the gloom before him._

_Oscar had a grisly sinking feeling like he knew what was about to happen. He felt like he was about to suffocate. Breath short, bones heavy._

_He, as Ozpin, looks over his shoulder when a tremor violently shakes the earth around them. Thoughts that were not his own tore through his consciousness. They were underground. So many innocent souls were about to die. Have already died. Beacon was about to fall. The echoes of chaos and panic above don’t sound in these halls, but he knew they were there and he feels such debilitating desolation._

_His… his **students** … _

_“Are you ready?” Ozpin asks, trying to focus, sounding more sure of this than he felt._

_In the machine, Pyrrha nods, eyes troubled but resolute. A bravery worthy of a true Huntress and a courage that was asking far too much of a child to do alone._

_For a moment, Ozpin wavers._

_“I… I need to hear you say it.”_

_A complex rush of emotions. Hope. Horror. Uncertainty. Self-disgust at the ethical violation this machine represented and his choice to use it in the end. Bitterness on his tongue, exhilarated anticipation in his chest. Another fleeting memory of the faces of his inner circle when James had straightforwardly explained the objective and mechanics of the machine, all uncertain, all guilty and hopeful in equal measure._

_He could feel proud about that even if he wasn’t proud of himself, that the others felt the horror of it. Even if that sentiment would become insignificant as history dogged on and brought his actions of this horrible day to light. A machine that captured Aura and subsumed it into something else. Or, someone else. There wasn’t a null possibility he might artificially create a being unlike himself—two souls, one body. An undying curse._

_Who would choose that?_

_He remembered the faces of Glynda, Qrow, and James. They were all soldiers in this war now and why the hell would you make a soldier who was incapable of guilt? Without guilt they were all no better than the monsters they fought. That they were guilty meant that they weren’t as separated from humanity, as distant, as Ozpin sometimes felt during his lives._

_In the back of Ozpin’s mind, in the dark of the dream, Oscar was quiet._

_Pyrrha spoke without even the slightest tremor in her voice._

_“Yes.”_

_“…Thank you, Miss Nikos.”_

_With the press of a few buttons, he starts the machine. Almost instantly Pyrrha begins to cry in agony, a torture she should have never had to endure. He can’t help but stare as if paralyzed at the Aura flowing through the tubes that they all so desperately needed to belong to someone who wouldn’t use it for sowing evil and discord._

_“Pyrrha!”_

_Jaune shouts in anguish, rushing over fearful and confused._

_“I’m… so sorry.”_

_Guilt. Grief. Regret. Fear. Anger. More innocent children caught up in a sickening war between him and a woman he once loved with all his heart, now a monster who felt neither fear nor fatigue. Oscar feels a tangle of emotion that does not belong to him which is brutal and sobering. Ozpin was also just a man, as great and as old as he was. Something inside him hurt. Something inside him never healed. Here are more children he’s endangered by his actions, more pain he’s caused. He recounts four forbidden names lost so so long ago and yet whose spark of life was extinguished far too early. He’s failed again. He’s given so much of himself to this war. His soul is worn too thin._

_An arrow pierces through Amber’s heart, cancelling the transfusion and her life._

_And then, later—convincing Jaune and Pyrrha to run because if that’s the last thing he can do in this life, then at least he won’t have to see another child die—he’s killed. The green colors of the world go up in flames. He was burning, burning burn—_

Oscar wakes, mind in turmoil, and he can’t stop the shaking or the tears. 

Ozpin had never told him how he’d died. 

Later in the same night, Oscar thinks he hears the words _“…I’m sorry, Oscar,”_ in Ozpin’s voice. But they are so faint and stretched so thin over time and space and void that he is convinced he must have imagined it. 

\---

Oscar bit the back of his pen, using his low bookcase as a desk. He had never filled out an application before. He hardly did a lot of writing at all, mostly just reading instead. Ozpin had been the scholar. He was just the farm boy. He fixed tires, not spelling. 

He worried about the uneven, blocky letters he spilled out haphazardly on the page. 

He tried to imagine something reassuring Oz might say but could only focus on fire, the shaking of the earth, and grief-stricken apologies for several minutes as he stared with abject terror at the papers in front of him. Still no word from the real Ozpin himself and Oscar wasn’t entirely sure at the state of their… merge when it came to time travel. He still had access to memories that weren’t his, but it felt almost like a restricted library. 

_Do what you can,_ imaginary Ozpin finally breaks through. 

“What if I don’t get in?” he asks out loud, putting his head in his hands out of a growing sense of misgiving and far too used to one-sided conversations no one else could hear. 

_Then you try a different way, an application isn’t a zero-sum situation. With our knowledge, we have a lot of opportunities to turn things in our favor. There’s Haven and Lionheart with the false exchange students, too._

Oscar finally voices something he’d left unspoken all this time, holding his feelings back for fear of breaking down and succumbing to his emotions unchecked. It was a feeling that had slowly wormed its way into his heart despite his best efforts to look forward and do his what he could and he was so undone over it, so unraveled, that his voice was barely over a whisper when he finally said it. 

“…I… want to meet _you._ I want to hear you again for real. I want to see Ruby and everyone else again. I… I miss them.” 

_…Then start with your name._

“What?” 

_Your name, on the page. Write it. There is no going to Beacon if you falter at the first step._

“Oh. Yeah. You’re… you’re right.” 

So he tried to focus and worked through age, address as well as other basic information easily enough with imaginary Ozpin humming encouragement at the back of his mind, metaphorically looking over his shoulder. Then came the hard part. 

Weapon and style of combat, semblance if unlocked, and a statement of purpose. He had to figure out how he wanted to arrive in Beacon. How much information he wanted Ozpin to have. Student? Student from the f~u~t~u~r~e~? Student with forbidden knowledge? He _needed_ to get to Beacon and he needed to get in touch with Ozpin securely, that much he knew. What he wasn’t so sure about was what he did after that. 

He felt it had been easy to criticize Ozpin for keeping the secrets he had but being in a somewhat similar position was harder to handle than he’d thought. 

Say he got into the school, what then? Tell Ozpin everything that happens? Tell him Beacon falls but he didn’t know precisely how or when. Tell him Lionheart betrays him or has been betraying him for a long time and throw Vale’s relationship with Mistral into disarray—something that would fall right into Salem’s hands? Tell him he knows his darkest secret and his shame, that there’s no plan, Salem is unkillable, and Ozpin fears being betrayed by those closest to him?

 _Do you trust me?_ the Ozpin he imagined asked. 

“Not here,” Oscar answers after a while, “Not yet. But I _want_ to. I don’t think any of us saw you as an enemy when we found out, we were all just hurt. I think they all loved you in their way which made it hurt more. I want to convince you to tell the truth sooner, like Ironwood.” 

He imagined Oz falling quiet and hoped the real Oz, the real actual voice in his head, couldn’t hear him play pretend like this. At the thought of Ironwood, Oscar touches his chest briefly, pushing aside a sudden slew of anxious thoughts and bad feelings. He shakes his head. Not helpful, not today; he didn’t have the time for his world to crumble apart. 

“The way you rushed Ruby, you know, after she asked Jinn, you looked—well, _felt,_ I can’t see myself—but we felt _scary._ Desperate, enraged, betrayed. Your feelings were so strong. I know you hurt as much as all of us, but I don't know what you would do to keep your secret with your own body. I can’t help stop Salem in the future if you don’t tell the truth now. I'll need you to trust me. Or, the you in Beacon. And the you that’s actually real. Not... the version of the voice in my head I’m imagining of the real voice in my head. That I… am talking to. Right now.” 

Imaginary Ozpin felt reluctant and Oscar felt like more of a crazy person than he normally did, which on any given day fluctuated between a six and an eleven, so that was saying something. 

_You need to convince me._

“I hope I can,” he murmurs. 

Additionally, he wasn’t even sure Ozpin _read_ the applications. Maybe some other Beacon administrator read and screened them, then passed them on? He couldn’t risk that. He wasn’t sure he could figure out a secret message to put in if he couldn’t be sure it’d reach Oz’s eyes, or that the applications weren’t also monitored by the splinter cell that broke Beacon apart. So then that left… either getting Oz to notice the cane and be curious enough or needing to get in on the merit of his skills. Ruby had practically been a prodigy. Oscar was not. 

Like he’d thought, that only left one answer. 

Imaginary Ozpin was right. Failing here didn’t have to mean failing everything. He had options and he had to _try._

\---

_He’s in what dream knowledge or past-future memory tells him is a stolen Atlas airship. His gloved hand is touching the earpiece he was using to communicate with his allies below. The sea swells beneath Ozpin and the ship, unrelenting waves crashing against the impassive rock of the cliff._

_“I think I’ve finally found a weakness,” his dream-self was saying from his place in the co-pilot’s seat._

_“Well, we’re all ears,” responds one of his companions impatiently over the communication link._

_He speaks quickly, knowing time was crucial to their objective, “The cylinder on Cordo’s cannon rotates and locks in a giant Dust cartridge every time she changes attack styles.”_

_A blue beam bursts forth from the colossus the airship was engaged with, only narrowly missing as the old lady (his grandmother, maybe?) next to him, fearlessly guides them out of danger with the practiced ease of an expert._

_The voice that answers from below is sharp and irked. “We noticed.”_

_“Right,” his dream-self answers, not even the slightest bit fazed by his associate’s scathing tone, “but her missile launcher doesn’t lock in, it pops out. Without her shields one well-placed shot could detonate the missiles while they’re still in the launcher.”_

_“We could destroy the entire cannon,” another voice, male, answers with a touch of awe, “Oscar, that’s brilliant.”_

_**Oscar**. His dream-self was named Oscar. _

_There’s a scratch in the record of his memory but he’s still aboard the bullhead. Summer Rose—no, **no** , someone different. It had to be. A girl who was not Summer was in the hold now, the hatch of the airship open, the wind whipping her hair and cloak wildly about. She checks her sniper rifle, loading a cartridge, her expression hard and determined. _

_“Hey, Cordo,” the old lady in the pilot’s seat taunts her radio, her daring voice teeming with an irrepressible, cavalier spirit, and alarm bells are already ringing in his head. “I’ve got one missile left and I know exactly where to stick it.”_

_A chuckle crackles through the radio. “One missile you say? That’s a shame, Maria, because I have **plenty!** ”_

_He finds himself shouting incredulously, throwing out his hands, wanting to refuse the reality before him and knowing it was futile, “ARE YOU TWO CRAZY!?”_

_“Sometimes the best approach is simply the most direct!”_

_The old woman next to him cackles, Summer-who-was-not-Summer gets into position, and he feels his heart threatening to leap out of his chest._

_Is he… is his dream-self stealing an Atlas airship with his grandmother? Is that what was happening?_

_The girl takes the shot._

Ozpin wakes, the dream version of Summer Rose lingering in his thoughts. He got out of bed and decided he needed to contact Qrow about his niece. 

Throughout the next few weeks, Ozpin thought about the name of the voice in his dream. _Oscar…_ He rolled it on his tongue, imagined the letters that spelled it out and the person the name belonged to. Who in Remnant was Oscar? A boy, clearly, small and idealistic. But he wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t a memory, not precisely. What did he look like? Where was he from? _When_ was he from? Was he even real or were dreams like this a natural psychological manifestation after living as long as he had? The weight of too many lives that held two souls, one body, and far too many failures? 

The thoughts whirled around his head until a few weeks later as he started to review applicants from potential Beacon candidates. (He felt more in touch with the world and the individuals that lived in it if he reviewed them personally.) 

_Oscar Pine._

The first thing he noted was his age. Too young. Far too young. He’d reject the application without a second thought if it weren’t for… 

His weapon of choice was… a cane. He’d listed no other combat form. Just. A cane. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but for him the name “Oscar” and the dream memory of the Long Memory’s comforting weight clipped to his belt was enough. 

Ozpin did his best to find out everything he could about the boy, even going so far as to send Qrow to collect information. On paper, there wasn’t much. Went to live with his aunt after a terrible tragedy befell his parents, raised and homeschooled on the farm with no other formal education, helped his aunt run both the agricultural and business side of the farm. That was it. Luckily Qrow found out a bit more than that… 

\---

Winter turned into spring and the lad was still a mystery. Doctor Ed hadn’t known Oscar had seen his daughter’s antlers until after the young man had woken up the first time. He’d been upset and afraid for her. Oscar seemed like a nice enough boy, he’d rescued his daughter even though he’d been in a broken mess of a mental state, but you can never tell with some people. Some people were only good to you until they found something about you they could hate. Like a second pair of ears. Or antlers. Ed wasn’t a faunus, but his wife had been. And being a faunus had gotten her _dead._

He wanted his daughter to be proud of her heritage, it shouldn’t be a source of fear or shame, but he also didn’t want her to get hurt. It was hard to grow up without a mother and even harder if you belonged to a group who were treated as things instead of people. 

Fortunately, his fears were for nothing because the kid turned out to be alright. His eyes never strayed to Umber’s hat, never tried to give him a questioning look, never even asked Umber about it in the following days. Either with him there in the same room or _without_ (he’d quizzed Umber about it a lot in the first few weeks of getting to know Oscar and his aunt). That, thought Ed, told him a lot. Oscar was kind and thoughtful and surprisingly politically aware for his age even if he never said anything about it. 

Still weird, though. 

Dr. Ed wasn’t as convinced as he had been before that the cause of Oscar’s disappearance was a clean mental break, although he _was_ convinced he’d returned in a fugue. There was a lot of trauma to unpack there. The boy was far too often lost in his own head for his own good and he was clearly uncomfortable even referencing what had happened to him. Emma said he’d claimed to travel to Argus and Atlas, Haven and Mantle. It was probably true. Oscar didn’t like to lie, even if he did seem to be an unwilling keeper of secrets.

His aunt also said he was having _nightmares._ Emma and Oscar shared responsibility when it came to the animals on the farm and after their first lambs of the year she was often in the barn checking on them day and night. That’s when she heard the sobbing. Emma hadn’t wanted to intrude, but she also didn’t want to pretend she hadn’t heard anything or neglect her nephew if he was in need. So, risking his potential embarrassment, she asked him about it in the morning. 

According to Emma, he brushed her off, sounding tired and maybe a little annoyed. 

“Just dreams, Auntie Em.” 

It _wasn’t_ just dreams. Emma knew, Ed knew, even Umber could tell there was something going on. He could be moody and withdrawn if you caught him in the right moment. He was never mean, never cruel, but he sometimes had a hard time focusing on the people right in front of him and invented chores he suddenly had to do or had “forgotten” to do so he could evade having to talk about it. 

It was consistent with trauma. 

Which he would never work through if he never _talked_ about it, but Ed didn’t think it was the right time to push. Right now he needed support as he adjusted back to normal life instead of… what… traveling from place to place and getting shot at? Yeah. That. 

Umber _loved_ Oscar. She wouldn’t stop talking about him. Oscar did this or Oscar said that, _Oscar, Oscar, Oscar._ There’s something a little romantic about getting your life saved by an older boy in a snowstorm who seemed a little troubled, Ed supposed. He was fairly certain Oscar knew, but to his credit the boy never acted like he thought Umber was annoying or her feelings were unimportant. The opposite, actually. As a father, Ed might feel a little more concerned about his daughter if he wasn’t so certain Oscar was entirely disinterested. 

He wasn’t like other boys his age who might have been irritated about a little girl intruding upon his personal space and time or an old grumpy man openly going through all his personal belongings right in front of him. Although, Oscar had eyed him with a look that seemed to say, _if you must,_ with an imaginary eyeroll attached to it when he’d done so.

Ed was just glad that his daughter was talking again after moving here, she’d had a such a hard life. 

\---

Oscar wasn't entirely surprised to find, a few weeks after he’d sent off his application, that there was a nosy bird following him around. It was _really hard_ to pretend he didn’t know it was Qrow. He had flown into the barn one day while Oscar was practicing solo techniques with his modified weapon. It would have been really easy to mistake Qrow for a regular crow since he literally looked like any other crow Oscar had ever seen, but no bird was ever this invested in his activities unless he was throwing birdseed around.

He decided to ignore him as much as possible. Putting his plans into motion now would be premature. That said, there were times where Qrow couldn’t be ignored so… 

Qrow squawked indignantly the day Oscar had gently scooped up his bird form and just as gently set him down just out of the barn. 

“Mama Sheep is about to have her first lambs,” he lectured Qrow sternly, crouching down so that he was closer in eye level with the bird and realizing this was probably the only time he would ever get to scold him without repercussion. “It’s a private moment for her and I don’t want you making her nervous if I have to help with complications. You can come back in later when she’s done with labor.” 

The bird cocked its head to the side as if not understanding what he said, then flew off. 

The lambing turned out to be successful. His aunt brought in a space heater while the mama nursed, Umber and Ed came over to see the new lambs, and he didn’t even notice when Qrow flew back into the barn. Umber had turned a little green when Oscar very vaguely explained the lambing process, but he supposed anyone who didn’t grow up on a farm wasn’t used to the idea of supervising animal pregnancy. Ed had laughed uncontrollably while Oscar made his attempts. As a doctor he’d probably delivered more than a few babies before.

When they left, he cordoned off the nursing area, washed up and changed his clothes, then went to grab the Long Memory. He practiced a lot by himself even though he thought it'd go smoother if he had a sparring partner. He’d felt pressured to improve quickly due to knowing what the future entailed and how badly he needed to be ready for it. He felt even more anxious after seeing— _experiencing_ —Ozpin _burn alive._

“Can’t let that happen,” he pants to himself after a particularly rigorous session he’d run himself through. He’d been so reluctant to start training when he’d reached Haven, but now he more than understood the importance of it. He wanted to be on the level where he could really help fight with and protect the others in battle. He knew he wasn’t even close. He had to get there. He didn't want to be the one who had to be protected all the time. 

Oscar didn’t mind fighting, that is, the physical act or the training that went into it. It was difficult because it wasn’t like chasing around chickens or tilling land even though all those things involved moving his body. It worked different muscle groups and there was a lot of thinking on your feet Oscar hadn’t initially accounted for. 

Oscar _wasn’t_ a fan of fighting for his life, fighting for his friends’ lives, fighting to save the world in an endless war. There was so much at stake that losing anything made it feel like losing _everything_ and sometimes people around him came undone, broken into pieces he couldn’t reassemble. But he’d told his aunt he couldn’t do _nothing._ He had promises to keep and a world to save.

He was also a kid who wanted some reassurance that everything was going to be okay and some comfort, but he’d been around enough adults to know that that no one was really sure of anything. Qrow, Ironwood, Ozpin. So he had to reassure himself, and he did that with lots of _practice._

Regardless, there was something about the physicality, improvement, and learning involved in training he enjoyed. It gave him something to focus on, here, in the past-present. 

Qrow settled into a haystack overlooking the lambs and watched him until he went to bed. 

\---

Umber wanted to show Oscar The Creek once spring came. So one day they trekked across the fields and just barely into the forest beyond where they could dig up mica from the creek bed and try to catch sleepy frogs before releasing them. They could hear the rustle of birds in the trees all around them and the gurgling of the little stream. It was a rare moment of peace in his head where Oscar didn’t find his thoughts wandering back to old memories. Or even _older_ ones. 

He was just living in the moment, the feeling of _now_ and _present_ comfortably settling across his shoulders as he smiled idly and swished a cattail along the water’s surface.

From her place atop a big rock, Umber crouches down and almost reverentially places a frog back into the creek after going through the trouble of catching him. Oscar felt warm and touched that she so obviously felt comfortable and confident enough to take her hat off around him, even if she would only do so once they had cleared the tree line. 

However, the little girl’s mind was plainly ruminating on something while she was catching frogs. 

“Are you okay now, Oscar?” 

“Huh?” 

“Um… Daddy said you were hurt, but when I asked him how he told me it wasn’t like with me and my leg. It was something we couldn’t see.” Her face turned red and guilty, “A-And he said it was something I shouldn’t ask about…”

For a moment, he was dumbfounded, the gurgling of the brook continuing without pause. 

“No,” he says, stubbornly fighting the tears that wanted to show, but after he sees the heartbroken expression on her face, he hastily adds, saying the first thing that came to mind, “…because I really want to drink some hot cocoa.” 

Umber looked at him strangely, and Oscar is suddenly grateful she's not yet able to fully read into others’ emotional states, poor excuses, or contradictions. 

“Why, um, don’t you?” 

Luxury good. Hard to afford. Oscar spent most of the money he saved up on high-quality superficial components for the Long Memory. Green leather straps wrapped carefully around the hilt topped off with a small red ribbon with silver edging because he was _homesick_ for a time period that didn’t exist yet and felt wordlessly, abrasively lonely for the people he had known and who now had never known him. 

He’d decided to elaborate on the preexisting skeleton watch and clocktower motif; exposed gears, small moving parts, elegant craftmanship, anything that didn’t interfere with its functions. He spent a lot of time making the stained glass crescent moon-shaped hunter-case with embedded green and gold gear designs interlaced with flowering vines set over the unexposed half of the circular face of the hilt. He thought it was neat. Auntie Em and Umber helped him come up with the pattern. 

Dyed leather, nice ribbons, and staining pigments were costly. Glass was especially expensive whether you made it yourself or bought it from someone else and Oscar had no other option but to make it himself.

Umber didn’t know most of that, however. She was ten. _He_ hadn’t known the vast difference in class economics until he’d left home, either, and both Oscar and Umber lived some pretty isolated lives out here in the back woods of Mistral. 

Instead of explaining wealth differences, Oscar decides to answer with, “We don’t have any.” 

“Oh! Um. If you want, you can come over and have some at my house. I’m sure Daddy won’t mind.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Oscar gives a genuine smile, once again touched by Umber’s endless positivity and generosity. “That sounds nice.” 

Umber wipes her hands on her pants, puts her hat back on and then rushes over to grab his hand. She walks the both of them out of the woods and towards her house. 

\---

“Interesting kid,” Qrow told Ozpin in his office, unscrewing the flask from his pocket and brandishing it at certain points in his report when he wanted to punctuate his thoughts. “Had some kinda mental breakdown and disappeared for a while. Came back in a snowstorm with combat gear,” here, a short flourish of the flask, “ a weapon that looks a hell of a lot like yours, and the skills to fight. Saved a girl, wiped out some Grimm.”

“Hmm. Well, now that _is_ somewhat unusual.”

“No kidding. Everyone I’ve talked to spoke highly of him. Quiet, polite, kind. Little moody sometimes if you catch him while he’s thinking. Doesn’t seem like the type to start trouble. Works the farm in the day, trains with that cane in the evening. Chases birds out of barns when there’s lambs. Still real polite about it, though.” 

Ozpin raises an eyebrow. 

“ _Apparently,_ ’Mama sheep’ was havin’ babies. Said it was a private moment and shooed me out during delivery.”

Ozpin chuckles, amused at such antics despite the mystery of the situation, “That’s awfully innocent.” 

“Well, he is fourteen. Fights like hell, too, from what witnesses say about the Grimm attack. It’s weird though. Real sensitive kid, cares about people’s feelings, but goes real hard in training like he _knows_ what’s out there. Like he’s seen it. Hell, maybe he _has_ with all that missing time. Not one damn person I talked to knows where he went or what happened to him.”

Qrow takes a long drink and looks at him meaningfully. 

_“Fights like you.”_

Qrow hands him a newspaper clipping. 

“That’s not all. You wanted to see him? Well… look at this...” 

In the clipping, there’s a photo of of a young boy carrying an even younger girl on his back, clutching… 

Clutching something that was unmistakably the Long Memory in his hand. 

Qrow taps the photo with force.

"It didn't look like this when I saw it." 

“Who _is_ he?” Ozpin wonders aloud, gaze fixed on the boy’s youthful face. 

“Dunno." Qrow tilts his head back and takes another swig before speaking again. "But I’ve got a feeling we should find out sooner rather than later. Want me to keep an eye on him?” 

“No, unfortunately I have a more urgent task for you. It’s about the Fall Maiden…” 

\---

Ed knew something was wrong the minute he stepped onto the stone footpath that led to his home. The porch light was on. The sun was setting, sky was streaked with pink and orange, and he hadn’t been home for hours. He’d been busy making house calls, stitches, soothing balm on burns, wrapping wounds with gauze. It had been a busy day and he’d sweated under the sun. Umber was at Oscar’s. 

He didn’t listen to his instincts and he should have. _He should have._

He heard the metal scrape against stone before he heard the thin, warped voice that all but crawled into his ears like gnawing centipedes. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat because all his blood had turned to ice. 

_“Doctor Edwin Llewellyn.”_

That voice. Familiar. Jolting. A chill goes up his spine. His hands shake helplessly. 

He turns around, slowly, wide-eyed, dim-witted, as if he were moving in molasses. 

_“Your wife says hello from her grave.”_

The shadow of a man smiles a smile that is all teeth and no joy. A huntsman’s weapon—no, a _killer’s_ weapon—in his hand, a massive and rusty oversized butcher’s knife long enough to be a sword with a chain attached to its end, raked against the stone path, sparks trailing in its cruel wake.

Ed wasn’t a fighter. He’d dropped out of combat school in the first month and pursued medicine and design instead. He took a shaky step backwards. Umber wasn’t home, Umber wasn’t home, Umber wasn’t—

A high-pitched voice cries out. 

“Daddy?”

Ed looks past the horror in front of him and sees Umber, eyes clouded with uncertainty, standing on the footpath holding Oscar’s hand. The man of shadows jerks his head unnaturally to peer at her, bones in his neck loudly creaking like rotted wood in a haunted house. 

He laughs without mirth, “Oh good, look, your darling daughter made it just in time for it to start and she’s brought a merry little guest along. I’d hate for her to have missed this.” 

Ed pleads with his eyes for Oscar to take his daughter and run. 

The shadow man raises the butcher sword, the last rays of sunlight glinting coldly off its edge...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my outline, Oscar will get to talk to one of the real Ozpins next chapter. Thank goodness. Maybe we'll all finally get to Beacon too. Here's hoping.


	5. We're Toast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a lot longer than usual. I don’t have a set amount of words or pages I try to stick to, only whatever feels right. This time, however, I promised Ozpin last chapter and I wanted to deliver.
> 
> In this chapter, Oscar's hobby is Suffering.

The sunlight died and the stars came out. 

From Ed’s perspective, one second Oscar was standing there holding his daughter’s hand and in the next he was lashing at the back of the man’s legs with that weird cane of his, practically _parkouring_ over their low fence to get there. The man fell hard to his knees in surprise and Oscar looked over his shoulder and shouted “Run!” His daughter, big wet eyes, pained expression, hesitates for just a second before she turns around and takes off sprinting. 

After she does so, Oscar moves to stand defensively in front of Ed, lifting the cane and spinning it in his hands before tapping it down hard on the earth before them. 

“I don’t want to fight you,” the boy says in what Ed thought was a shockingly calm voice for a teenage boy recovering from an unknown trauma, smooth and level. It lacked the fumbling, polite, and awkward timbre that usually accompanied Oscar’s words. His movements are just as measured. It was nothing like how he was coming out of the woods that night, gaunt and wild-eyed. His posture was deliberate, his gaze unwavering. His gloved hands tighten around his cane. “But I will if I have to. Leave him alone.” 

The man practically gyrates in place, like a haunting, undulating ballerina, jumping to his feet before jerking to an unnatural halt.

“Hello, hello? What’s this? Another precious bird for the slaughter in good Edwin’s wake? How quaint!” 

“Oscar,” Ed croaks out. “He’s after me! Go after Umber and keep her s—” 

“Do it yourself!” Oscar snaps back at him without even turning to look at him. He didn’t say anything further, but the entire unmoving, concentrated rigidity of his stance seemed to say, _“You’re not dying here!”_

Without warning, the man slams his cleaver down towards Oscar. Ed shouted in horror. 

But against his fears, Oscar hadn’t been cut in half. Instead, he was already halfway to striking a pressure point on the man’s left side. Nevertheless, the man easily twisted himself out of the way of the oncoming blow in a way that suggested the human skeletal system was more of a guideline rather than a tangible concept that was subject to the laws of reality. 

The strange man fought back with an untempered, hysterical vengence, a deadly dancer with his giant cleaver and rattling chain, all mirthless smiles and edges and teeth. Slim, attenuated arms skillfully whirled his massive blade this way and that as Oscar just barely avoided it just in time.

There was a chilling moment when Ed thought it was all over. With a simple flick of his arm, the man managed to smash Oscar over the head with the hilt of his blade and the boy went down. Hard. He’d been hammered to the ground with a ghastly note of finality, like Oscar’s body were boneless as well as weightless. Like he were nothing.

The man took a moment to recover and sneer down at him before his gaze slowly rose to meet Ed’s. 

He laughed and started to take creeping steps towards him. Ed shook in anguish, tears spilling from his eyes. 

But it wasn’t over. Ed heard a shaky breath and watched as Oscar slowly, miraculously, got to his feet, using that stupid cane of his to support his weight, hands trembling. From his place behind him, Ed saw him square his shoulders. With a shout, the boy launches himself forward suddenly taking the offensive. 

Neither Ed nor the assassin expected the relentless staccato rhythm of Oscar’s cane lashing out against him. They were swift, brutal strikes that felt entirely counter to his personality. Oscar was a tiny, startlingly merciless, rapid-paced force whose movements, although unrefined, could transition from offensive to defensive in quick succession as needed. From then on, when the man tried to strike he was immediately repelled, when he tried to block or recover, Oscar had already closed the distance, cane bearing down on him.

In a hard-won moment where he had once again cleared some distance from the boy’s onslaught, the horrible, wretched man loosens his grip on his weapon and lets it fall until he’s gripping the chain attached instead. In a massive burst of power, he whirls the weapon over his head like a turbine. 

“Dr. Ed, _move!_ ” Oscar was shouting, distraught and desperate, but Ed was too entranced by his fear and shock and memories to even think, staring at wicked white teeth of _death_ glimmering in the dark. He’s not certain he even understood what the boy was saying in that moment. Words meant nothing. He remembers his wife and the look in her eyes when he found her... Time seemed to freeze as the horrible man lifted his arm, the gleaming murderous blade rising high above him. 

He hears Oscar grunt and then suddenly Ed is on his hands and knees, metal blade slicing the air just above him. Oscar had kicked his leg out, toppling him to the ground in time to avoid the blade that called Ed’s name. 

The boy in green gave a hiss of pain and Ed managed to shake himself from his trance and look up from the ground in time to see him clutch his shoulder with one hand, blood flowing freely through his fingers. The horrible man laughed. 

Ed saw a side of Oscar he thought rarely appeared before others. His teeth are bared, eyes narrowed sharply, gaze focused on his opponent, readying his weapon for another blow despite his injuries. There’s a steady, almost frigid determination in his eyes. 

Blood drips down the side of his head. Oscar barely seemed to notice.

It was then Ed realized something. Oscar had fought other _people_ before. It was obvious in retrospect, he’d said he’d been shot for a difference of opinion but… you didn’t learn to face people like this if you were only fighting _Grimm._ You learned this kind of combat when your opponents were other _people._

“How about this,” the man says as if he were at a merchant’s stall instead of terrorizing a country doctor, throwing his thin, sickly arms up in a shrug, looking keenly at Oscar. “You let me have Doctor Edwin today, and I’ll come after _you_ another day, my dear misled boy.”

His voice was so cordial, so pleasant. It made Ed’s heart hammer harder. 

What Oscar _didn’t_ have was endurance and while Oscar was fast, he clearly wasn’t untouchable and he also didn’t have perfect control over his Aura either as indicated by the other numerous small cuts on his body that Aura might have deflected and healed by now. He stood between Ed and his assassin, breathing deeply, hands gripped tight on the hilt of his weapon. 

“No thank you,” Oscar responds, almost breathless, same polite tone creeping back into his voice. He then addresses the terrible man, sounding—to Ed—impossibly brave for such a tiny, panting boy. “I’m giving _you_ one chance to stand down.” 

As if he really needed to think about it, the man pauses and tilts his head to the side and to such an extreme angle it was hard to believe there were any bones in his neck at all.

“No. All filth must die. Dogs beneath our feet and those who roll in the mud with them. If you intend to stand with them, then I must exterminate you, too.” 

He sees a brief flicker of confusion appear on Oscar’s face—because of _course_ he didn’t know about their history—before the man is moving again.

Stance wide, the assassin brought his weapon down hard and fast, intending to overwhelm and overpower the boy with the sheer weight behind his angled swipe. The boy stooped low, rolling through the space under his legs, rose to his feet, deftly twirled his cane for the proper grip and in one smooth motion twisted his body for maximum torque and _slammed_ the point of his cane into the side of the man’s ribs. 

There had to at least be some bones in there, because Oscar had knocked the wind out of his lungs and gaunt, bony fingers clasped themselves over his ribs. His gasps were drawn out and wretched. 

Oscar switches to another grip, two-handed, and readies his cane, prepared for another attack if it came. 

That was when Ed’s front yard flooded with light and the authorities arrived. 

\---

What Oscar hadn’t known was, just like there were radicalized groups of faunus who used violence and fear to spread their message, there was also an equal and opposite force whose operations revolved around exposing, humiliating, and killing faunus along with their family and supporters that liked to call themselves, in sick humor, “Animal Control.” They percolated throughout the continents, forming sleeper cells that worked to uncover suspected faunus and sent strike teams to kill or frame them for heinous crimes that supported the narrative of their cause. 

“The bastard individuals who work alone like to call themselves ‘Zookeepers,” Ed murmured venomously as he finished explaining while patching up the wound on Oscar’s shoulder. The boy sat atop Ed’s kitchen table where he’d told him to so he could better dress his wounds. He was a doctor. After the man had been chased off, it was the closest place for treatment. 

The boy looked sad, and tired. He clearly wished he could have done more but as things were, he was lucky not to be suffering from a concussion. He’d had to put stitches where the assassin had slammed his hilt, too.

“Sorry he got away like that,” said a very muscular woman walking into the kitchen who looked apologetically at Ed. “We didn’t expect him to be able to break out of those cuffs like that. I don’t know if that was his Semblance or what, but the way he just… ugh, _rearranged_ the bones in his body so he could slide out of them was… uncanny. It caught us off guard.” 

This was Marin. Huntress, detective, faunus, and one of Ed’s old friends. She had spotted markings on her skin, short, white wafting hair that gave her an ephemeral halo around her head, and a tail that closely resembled a snow leopard’s. She handled special victim crimes in the surrounding area… meaning she was the one who had _all_ the faunus-related cases dumped on her shoulders by virtue of being one of the few faunus in the local force. She was short, stocky, and incredibly muscular. She wore a crop top, high rise jeans, a blue duster, and an attitude that didn’t give a damn about how someone associated with the law should dress. 

The boy winced in pain when Ed dabbed his shoulder wound with peroxide. 

“How is Umber?” Ed asks Marin bluntly, focusing on stitching because if he didn’t he was going to lose it right then and there. He’d been on battlefields before, an experienced medic in a group of Huntsman with a Semblence that kickstarted the healing process, but it was different seeing Umber there. He couldn’t keep himself together. He felt… ashamed. 

He then scolds Oscar, pulling the boy’s hand away from the stitches on his head. “Young man, stop touching that or so help me.”

Oscar looked at him wide-eyed and flustered while Marin gave Ed his answer. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ed. When she came running in screaming, I feared the worst for you. She’s a mess. Physically, she’s fine, but… well, the one good thing in this fiasco is that you had this cute, little hunter to bravely defend you.” 

Marin clasped a hand on Oscar’s uninjured shoulder and smiled broadly. She looked like she was seconds away from pinching his cheeks, calling him adorable, and taking him home as a pet. 

Looking up at her, eyes half-lidded, as if this happened a lot, Oscar responds with rare annoyance creeping into his voice, “Please, don’t call me that.” 

Oscar looked, and _sounded,_ tired. Ed just felt more guilty. Marin just laughed. She put her hands up in surrender. She was probably trying to lighten the mood for both their sakes. Ed appreciated the effort even if it didn’t make him feel any better. 

“Alright, little lad, alright.” 

Oscar just made an annoyed huff and looked even more tired after that. _That_ made Ed smile. He gave only the smallest chuckle. It was nice to know that even after everything he’d been through, the kid could still be a kid, grumbling over being viewed as small and cute, the curse given to children everywhere.

“You did good,” Ed leans in and tells him softly. Oscar looks to him in quiet surprise. And then responds just as softly. 

“He seemed to know you.” 

Ed finishes the stitches and Oscar painstakingly shrugs his combat jacket back on. 

“He was part of the cell that murdered my wife. His name is Rhys. I found… I found her right after he—” 

“Eddie,” Marin interrupted urgently but not unkindly. “Now that you’ve finished, we need to put you and Umber up somewhere else. He got you here once, he can get you here again. Now that we know he is here and after you two like we feared, I think we can set up a sting. When your girl came in, I had one of the squad take her to somewhere she thought would be safe. Do you know where ‘The Pines’ is?”

“Oh!” Oscar starts, slowly and hesitantly raising a hand, “Um, that’s me. My aunt’s farm, actually.” 

Marin claps her hands and beamed. 

“Good! We can set up operations there!” 

Oscar looked alarmed. 

\---

“What’s the _point!”_ Umber was yelling in frustration, ripping her hat off in rage and throwing it on the ground when they arrived back at his aunt’s farm. 

“Umber… sweetheart…”

His aunt was trying to calm her down. Oscar didn’t think she’d known Umber was a faunus until just that moment. Aunt Emma tried to reach down to put a soothing hand on Umber’s shoulder, but the girl pushed away. 

“Things were just starting to feel normal! But Mama died, we ran from the city, and they’re still after us! I’m so scared! What’s the point of this… this _stupid_ thing if it doesn’t even help!” 

She kicked her hat and then fell to her knees, biting her lip trying not to sob and failing.

With his good arm, Oscar silently crouched down to pick up the hat from where it landed. Aunt Emma sat down on her knees in front of Umber. She gently takes the little girl’s hands and squeezes them. 

“I know you’re scared. It’s not your fault. You can’t help the way you are, Umber, and you can’t help the way people look at you. But all of us are here for y—” 

Umber jerked suddenly away and ran out of the house, tears streaming from her eyes. Ed startled and almost ran after her, but Oscar grabbed his sleeve. 

“I got this.” 

He headed out the door to look for her.

Oscar had been conscripted into an endless war. The faunus were also participants in the same endless war, knowingly or unknowingly, but also had to fight another one on a different front from people who _should_ be allies. That was far too much to ask of anyone. 

He remembers one late night asking Blake about her bow and—

No… No, _wait._ That was Ozpin. He, Oscar, had never seen Blake wear a bow in her hair and over her ears. He’d never seen her with her ears covered at all while traveling alongside her, but he could still remember the conversation well enough, nevertheless. Cane grasped in one hand, steaming mug in the other, dark night sky through the window he asked a younger, much more cautious, standoffish Blake: 

_“Why do you wear that bow, Blake? Why hide who you are?”_

_“You may be willing to accept the faunus, Professor Ozpin, but your species is not.”_

_“True… but we are continuing to take strides to lessen the divide.”_

_“With all due respect, you need to start taking some larger strides. Until then, I’d rather avoid any unnecessary attention. I want people to see me for who I am, not what I am.”_

Memories of team RWBY or JNPR before he met them made Oscar feel confused and extremely uncomfortable. It felt almost like spying on them. Pushing that aside for the moment because it wasn’t time to have an identity crisis yet _again,_ Oscar could understand Umber having some hard and complicated feelings over her hat as a faunus in a discriminatory world. 

He found Umber just inside the open doors of the barn, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. She flinched when she spotted him coming over but didn’t otherwise move. Oscar sits down next to her, cross-legged and looked at the stars in the sky above them just beyond the threshold. Umber scowled at the hat clutched in his hand.

After what felt like forever, Umber spoke, voice strained. 

“…Thank you for saving Daddy.”

“I really didn’t do much. It was Marin who actually saved him.” 

He didn’t think he was being humble, it was just the truth. His skills still weren’t even close enough to protect someone, let alone himself. He’d barely fended off Rhys and he had barely fended off Neopolitan. 

A soft sigh. Umber shifted and leaned against his side, head on his shoulder. Oscar stiffens in surprise. Uh…?

“I was there when… when Mama was killed. H… He took her… l-like a trophy.”

She reaches a hand up to touch one of her tiny antlers, as if needing to be reassured it was still there. With sudden understanding, Oscar wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder and waited. 

“I’m tired of being scared all the time,” she tells him, eyes glistening up at the stars. 

“Me too.” She looks at him, startled. 

_“But you’re human! You can fight!” she says harshly, pulling away, eyebrows angling at him sharply._

“And _lose,”_ Oscar says, tapping his injured shoulder, the one grisly with his own blood on his jacket. 

She stares at the drying blood before her gaze almost guiltily drifted down to her prosthetic leg. 

“You’re not a faunus,” she says finally. “N-No one’s trying to kill you or… or hunt you down for who or what you are.” 

Well, the first part was true, he was very definitely not a faunus, even if the second part wasn’t. Although most people only tried to kill him because of the wizard in his head or because he was in the way of raising a city higher into the sky and leaving millions to die, but this wasn’t about him and it didn’t make Umber’s feelings any less valid or inaccurate. 

No one called _him_ a filthy faunus and spat at him in the street even after multiple apologies like what had happened with Blake. No one looked at him the way people looked at Blake or denied him entry anywhere because he was of “questionable character” like Cordovan had done. No one in Atlas spread rumors about him not earning or deserving a position (which he personally didn’t have anyway, but that's beside the point) in the Atlas military, let alone the Ace Ops, like with Marrow. No one murmured “diversity hire” behind his back. 

“You’re right.” 

What else could he say? The part of him that was strategic, the part of himself he associated with Ozpin, would have tried to reassure her, earn her trust, point out the improvement that has slowly progressed through the years. But it didn’t help Umber _right now._ Umber was ten. She wouldn’t care about social progress. That’s not what mattered to her. Umber’s mother was still dead and she was still being targeted, afraid for her life. 

The part of Oscar that didn’t bend, the part of himself he associated with older, more dreamlike memories he couldn’t _quite_ grasp or understand yet… a sword, a crown, a scepter, would have told her what to _do._ She was a child, she needed direction, it didn’t have to be complicated. _Fight._ Except Umber was still ten and no one had easy answers to complex issues like division and hate. _No one_ could be expected to fight against that alone. 

But Oscar wasn’t a combat school headmaster and Oscar wasn’t a king. The part of Oscar that was Oscar, dark earth, pale green sprouts reaching towards the sun, golden wheat dancing in the cool breeze on a hot summer day, had a different answer.. 

_He reached out to hold her hand._

Silence. He chose to wait. This was Umber’s moment. Not his. What was the point in valuing individualism and expression in this world after the Great War if you railroaded people into what you thought their narrative should be? No. Umber was afraid, Umber had something to say. Umber needed a chance to talk about herself because she never gave herself the time. She took to her prosthetic leg fast, but with something like watching your mother die in front of you, _he’d_ feel grateful for anything that would reassure him he could run away, too. 

“I… don’t know what to do,” Umber said after a long time, clutching his hand tight, voice shaking. “T-That man… I’m scared. Daddy’s scared.” 

“It’s okay to be afraid,” he tells her, pulling her into a hug and a strong memory of Ironwood appearing in his mind, eyes haunted and distant. He shakes it off. He’s not sure what to say to comfort a child, but he thinks about what he would have wanted to hear when he was scared, of when wanted reassurance when it seemed like the world was all but falling apart around him. 

“You’re safe here. You don’t deserve this. We’re here to protect you.” 

The little girl is motionless at first, but only seconds later she is hugging him back tightly and intensely. 

_“Aaugh! Ow—!”_

Oscar pulls away. His shoulder was throbbing. 

“Oh gosh!” Umber cries, reaching her hands out and stopping just short for fear of hurting him again. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

Oscar holds up his hands, wincing, dropping Umber’s hat on accident, “No, it’s okay! I forgot about it too.” 

Their eyes fall on the hat between them. Umber looks at it in disgust before her gaze flickers back to him. 

“Daddy says you prob’ly had a friend who was a faunus. Says it’s obvious. Did… did they hide it?” 

“Not when I met her. Before… I think so, but she never hid her ears in the time I knew her.” 

“Did people—?” 

“Yes. And she always had her friends who love her around to rely on and protect her when she needed it.” 

One of them going so far as to blast a man into a dumpster before any of the _rest_ of their friends could maul him. Weiss was just faster on the draw. Or, and he didn’t know the full story, going toe-to-toe with the man who hurt Blake in the past, both physically—sword through stomach—and emotionally. Although he didn’t know as much about that last part. Granted, Yang seemed to have that covered. 

All of them would protect Blake if it came down to it because Blake was a faunus _and_ she was loved. 

He holds out Umber’s hat. 

“I’m here for you, too. _This,_ though, I think, is _your_ choice.” 

Umber considers. 

\--- 

After a few weeks, it almost felt like being back at Atlas because of all the people. Except much warmer, in the country, and his aunt was there. Ed, Umber, Marin, and her partner stayed with Oscar and his aunt on the farm. Apparently, there was a squad “around” but Oscar had yet to spot him in the few weeks that followed. He did get a letter in the mail saying he was selected for a personal interview with the headmaster of Beacon to discuss consideration for early acceptance. They included a number he should call to set it up with Beacon administration. 

He wasn’t entirely surprised, but he was deeply relieved. 

And then very quickly deeply anxious. He’d get to speak to Past-Ozpin directly. He’d get to see his face, what he looked like, his mannerisms and how he held himself. Back when he was traveling to Haven, it had felt far too intimate to think of Ozpin other than just a disembodied voice in his head. Somehow it was just easier. And, like many other things, Ozpin had never shared. He’d have to talk to an Ozpin that didn’t know him and might be suspicious of him. An Ozpin he couldn’t tell the full truth to. Not yet. Not until he could be trusted with telling his own truth. 

Regardless, Oscar couldn’t afford the trip to Vale and back for an in-person interview and he was upfront about that to whoever ran the administrative side of Beacon. He’d been assured there would be no problem and that a video interview via Scroll would be just fine. He’d log in to a portal on the network and he’d be able to connect to Beacon communications no problem. 

So he set up a time for an interview over the Scroll and all he had to do was wait. 

_…Anxiously._

He felt that the Headmasters of combat schools rarely did personal interviews, so this almost definitely had to do with Ozpin being more curious about the Long Memory other than anything else. Aaah, what should he do? What should he say? 

At least there was Marin around to practice partnered sparring with. She had been delighted to find out Oscar knew a little hand-to-hand. It certainly helped relieve stress even if Marin was leagues better and far more skilled than he was. 

He was used to that, though. Literally everyone he’d ever sparred with before had gone to combat schools and had been involved in this war longer than he had—fought Grimm, fought Salem’s forces, were literal military leaders or lieutenants of secret world-saving brotherhoods. If there was any relief, Oscar was pretty sure he was still picking up Ozpin’s muscle memory. 

“You’re not bad,” Marin tells him, helping him to his feet after she’d knocked him down. “Your stance isn’t terrible, you’ve got the right movements, but your footwork is stiff. But, don’t worry, you’ll get there.” 

“That’s… encouraging, I think?” 

The faunus detective settles into a lower stance, raises her fists. 

“You’re not what I was expecting at all. I don’t mean to bring up bad memories, Eddie said I shouldn’t, but you’ll find I’m a blunt kinda gal. ‘Pologies in advance. I was the one who took the missing person report from your Aunt. From what I was told, and what Eddie first told me about you after you got back, I was expecting someone… well, less like you.” 

“…What did you have in mind then?” 

He is in the middle of feeling an incredible surge of guilt at the mention of his aunt grieving over him, back when he was missing and maybe in the future should he die in war, when suddenly, Marin throws a fist at him. Oscar reacts in time to bring his guard up and deflect the blow. He goes a step further, wrapping his arm around hers, locking it in place, and uses his shoulder and her momentum to throw her to the ground beneath him. Qrow had done stuff like this. Have conversations interspersed with physical bouts. 

…Ironwood, too. 

Although Marin at least was closer in height to Ruby so he had a better shot at successfully maneuvering around her like this. He also felt less intimidated. Or… confused. Even though he’d been friendly and Oscar learned a lot, sparring with Ironwood had been… an interesting rush of thoughts and feelings. Especially with Ironwood’s goal to bring Oz to the surface… 

This time it was Oscar who held his hand out to help Marin up. She gives a short laugh once she gets to her feet, brushes straw off her shirt, and then looks at him. She gives a wistful sigh. 

“I expected someone _lost._ Instead, there’s a sort of intensity to the way you move in training like this, hard and fast. You’re not someone who’s lost, you’re someone who’s _driven.”_

She throws a jab and Oscar barely manages to dodge in time. She’d toppled is concentration in an instant. He'd never thought of himself like that. 

“At least when you’re paying attention,” she tells him as he took a step back to put some distance between them. “Don’t let little ole me distract you. I see why Ed thinks you’re such a mystery. That way you sometimes hold your shoulders back, head lifted, eye contact—the way you walk with an even, measured tread reads as extensive training. You don’t always do it, but then you also get all self-conscious when people talk to you.” 

Oscar ducks his head under Marin’s incoming kick and then moves in close on her inner flank, aiming for her solar plexus. Without even needing to register his movement, Marin catches his wrist. 

“Which, I get. You’re, like, twelve.” 

“Actually, I’m—” 

BAM! Roundhouse to the face. He lands in a cloud of straw. 

One day… he thinks to himself, dreamily staring up at the clouds above, he will stop getting hit in the face, but today was not that day. So much for going easy on the injured kid. 

“You know, that wound on your shoulder is gonna scar,” Marin told him, helping him up again and out of the straw. “Along with that, you’ve got this mysterious vibe people are gonna _love_ when you’re a bit older.” 

She says this grinning madly like a family friend who was trying to set him up with their child. Little did Oscar know at the time that Marin had six eligible daughters. 

In the moment, Oscar grimaces, face flushed. Why did everyone act like this? 

“I… don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

Marin laughs wholeheartedly. 

\--- 

As headmaster of an academy, let alone one geared towards combat, there is much that requires Ozpin’s personal attention. His administrative staff worked hard and diligently, but there were some matters that must be left up to him. Along with his “side job,” as Qrow calls it, his schedule was bustling with appointments, duties to fulfil, plans to determine. 

However, _this?_ This he made absolutely sure to have time for. 

The interview finally begins. 

“Hello, Oscar Pine,” he starts once their terminals had connected. “So, you want to come to my school.” 

The boy freezes for a moment staring at him like he was a ghost before blinking slowly and then responding. 

“Oh, um… Hello? Yes, I do. Sorry if the camera’s shaky, I don’t have anything to put the Scroll on to keep it stable.” 

In that moment Ozpin recognizes it as the voice from his dreams. He had found the boy. A youthful face, wide, expressive eyes, and messy black hair. Freckles and a tanned complexion, he looked far, far too young and it broke his heart remembering some of the dreams he’d had. 

The boy was sitting in front of a second story window that overlooked the fields below. Far off in the distance he could see a mountain and some forest, the moon rising high bathing everything in cool moonlight. In contrast, inside the room, the light was warm and pleasant, although Ozpin didn’t get the impression it came from electricity. Maybe a lamp. 

His head was tilted to the side as if he were trying to figure out whether or not he was coming through. Ozpin could see recent stitches in the hairline right near the boy’s temple. 

“I can see you just fine, Mr. Pine. From the moon outside, it looks like it’s late in Mistral. I apologize for keeping you up.” 

“No, it’s okay,” the boy is quick to reassure him. “I stay up this late reading most nights.” 

The camera shakes a little as the boy looks at something off screen. Perhaps his collection of books? 

Ozpin steeples his fingers, his chin resting on them, staring at the mystery boy before him. Background checks were notoriously hard to conduct when you lived in a world where huntsmen and huntresses could come from all walks of life, from outside the kingdoms surviving and fighting on their own, to living in dubious groups, such as the Branwen Clan had been to Qrow and Raven. Ozpin didn’t like to deny entrance because someone’s past history seemed hidden or muddled. He wanted Beacon to be a second chance for those who wanted to take it. He wanted it to be a place where children could learn and grow and come into themselves. It didn’t mean he wasn’t careful, however. Qrow and Raven wouldn’t the first to attend Beacon for the purpose of learning how to kill huntsmen. It was unlikely they would be the last, either. 

He fixes the boy before him with piercing stare. 

“Tell me, how does a farm hand like yourself learn to fight the way you do? You have a rather, shall we say, unique style.” 

“…I read a lot of books.” 

It was a blatant lie, but not one Ozpin thought the boy expected him to believe going from the look on his face. He wants to ask about his weapon, but he’s not sure he will be given a straight answer. Even though young Oscar appeared calm and collected, he saw little signs that he was hopeful and nervous in turn. It wasn’t exactly something uncommon among interviewees to be nervous but want to appear calm. It didn't necessarily mean they were harboring ill intent. 

Under his gaze, the boy self-consciously brushes his fingers against his stitches. 

Ozpin’s eyes flickered over to Glynda who sat across from him in his office where Oscar couldn't see looking disgruntled. Although that didn’t necessarily mean anything. In all his lives, he had encountered no one else who channeled such energy into being disgruntled though day and night. 

“Mr. Pine,” Ozpin leans forward as if to get a good look at him. “ _Why_ do you want to be a Huntsman?” 

_“I don’t,”_ Oscar answered flatly, spine ramrod straight, meeting his gaze with green-gold eyes, resolute and unflinching. As the headmaster of an esteemed _Huntsman_ academy that many would-be hunters wanted to train at, Ozpin would have been taken aback at such bold honesty if he didn’t sense that there was more to come. 

“I hate seeing people get hurt, I never know what to do, and Grimm still scare me. But…” 

Here it was, Ozpin thought. Every normal applicant had a pitch as to _why them_ and it looked like Oscar had finally decided to get to his own. Was he a normal boy like all the rest? Was he something sinister laying in wait? Was he… another _Oz?_

“I…. think… we live in a divided time,” the boy tells him after much consideration, eyeing him thoughtfully as if trying to gauge his reaction, as he had been doing this entire interview. “Grimm, the White Fang, anti-Faunus discrimination, systemic societal inequality. I think… there are _people_ out there who _want_ us to fight each other instead of working together and trusting each other. I think fear does terrible things to people, even good people who want to do the right thing. I think the power of fear is compelling but what we decide to do about it _matters.”_

The boy pauses giving him a pointed look, as if waiting for his words to sink in before he continued. 

After the moment passes, he places a hand meaningfully on his chest, holding his Scroll one-handed and Ozpin felt his heart stir and a memory flicker in the back of his mind— _hurt, thoughts spiraling, it's all over, falling, falling, falling, the horizon beneath him as dawn broke, wind howling, and he lands with nothing and no one around him, every sound muffled by snow._

“I made… a choice. To put other people before myself. There’s people I have to protect and I’m more frightened of losing them than I am of anything else. So no, I don’t _want_ to be a huntsman, but I _need_ to be one.” 

The boy looked to him in anticipation. His words felt genuine and were chosen with such care that it was hard to think he would be lying. Ozpin felt inspired, maybe even touched. 

He carefully watches his youthful face, keeping his expression neutral. 

“Why now?” 

“Huh?” 

Ozpin flapped a hand vaguely. 

“You want to waive the age limit, correct? Why attend Beacon now? You must have some pressing _reason,_ Mr. Pine.” 

The boy scratches his neck and looks away briefly. 

“…Because I don’t think the world has the luxury of time and I want to be ready.” 

Ozpin’s eyebrows raise and he opens his mouth to ask him what he was referring to because it sounded _awfully like he knew_ — 

On the other end of the line, there was the sound of breaking glass. A horrified high-pitched shriek, a precipitous _crack,_ an unpleasant laugh. The boy’s eyes went wide and his face went pale. 

_“I’ve got to go.”_

His voice was small and quiet, barely even a whisper. On screen he begins to grab something to the side of him, expression changing from apprehensive to determined. 

“Wait! Mr. Pine, what is—?” 

The mystery boy killed the connection. 

Ozpin was left half-risen from his seat in alarm, hands on his desk, staring at his screen. 

\---

He’d been so entranced, watching the way Ozpin’s tousled hair fell a little in front of his face, seeing those stupid glasses, hearing his… voice. A voice he’d known for what felt like forever now. A real person with a real voice. He’d looked so… No. No time. He hated to do it, because this moment was so important and he already felt so disoriented and in over his head, but Oscar cut off communication, snatched up the Long Memory beside him, and soundlessly got to his feet. He could hear shouting below him in the barn. Carefully, he crept towards his door and silently opened it. 

Marin’s partner is on the floor with a mangled arm and bleeding from his stomach. The sound of glass had actually been the mirror over the sink along with the sink itself, porcelain falling in pieces when Dr. Ed had been thrown into it. 

The horrible man was _here,_ effortlessly holding Umber in the air by her glossy curls, kicking a lantern onto a stray haystack. Flames eagerly burst forth and hungrily ate up all before it, giving Oscar a heavy lump of fear in his stomach. The mother sheep and her lambs scatter, frantic and terrified, crying out into the night. 

Oscar spots Marin just outside the barn door, she spots him on the floor above. 

They both nod. 

Marin charges in. Oscar slides rather than climbs down the ladder checking on Marin’s partner first before Ed. The stomach wound looked bad, he didn’t know about the arm. He ran over to check Ed. He was the doctor here. 

“’S fine, ‘s fine,” Ed hissed, touching the wound on his head. “I’ll take care’a him. You… go do what you do.” 

Oscar didn’t need to be told twice. He helps Marin engage Rhys. 

“You thought you could sneak, sneak, get away from me, my darling girl, but no abomination goes unnoticed. And none who protect and hide you will go unpunished.” 

In his grasp, Umber screams and tries to kick at his face, maybe out of fear more than intent, but her legs didn’t have the reach. The man continues to laugh as the barn begins to burn around him. 

Oscar really didn’t get it. He knew some people hated the faunus due to clashes in history, differences in culture, or hate bred into generation after generation. He didn’t understand this ‘abomination’ stuff. He’d talked like this before when they fought before. It sounded… religious? …Maybe? 

Regardless, Oscar didn’t have time to theorize. Marin went to slam a fist against Rhy’s clavicle. Oscar went to strike his arm, force him to release Umber.  
There’s a sickening sound, like bones grinding against rock. Marin’s fist hits nothing but air, stumbling. Oscar does something similar, where there had once been an arm there now was none. He landed hard on wobbly legs trying to switch momentum. Rhys had tipped his entire torso at a ninety degree angle as if he were a marionette, as if spinal structure was optional, holding Umber even higher with the arm that lifted her. 

Rhys begins a wheezing chuckle as the wooden beams of the barn begin to catch fire, as if this were the final crescendo in his firey ballad. 

He raises his giant blade, chain rattling portentously. 

_“Uuahahahaha—oof!”_

In a perplexing turn of events, caught entirely unaware, Umber stomps on his face, spitting mad. There were still tears in her eyes, actually she was _bawling,_ but something in her had snapped. He’d held her too close when he’d changed the position of his arm. 

After she slams both her feet down and he loses his grip, she uses Rhys' face as a trampoline and bounces to the ground. She looks over her shoulder, teeth bared, then runs to Doctor Ed. 

The fire grows higher and hotter, climbing quickly to the second floor of the barn. Oh, Oscar lamented, his little library was toast… Smoke was pouring into the little wooden barn now, it was getting hard to see and hard to breathe. 

“Get out of here!” both he and Marin yell towards Ed and Umber. The two of them awkwardly start to drag Marin’s partner out as best they could, high on adrenaline, one of them with a head wound. 

Lots of that going around lately. 

Oscar twirls his cane, getting his hands in a steady grip. His lungs feel like they were on fire. They were surrounded on flame on three sides. His heart pounded wildly against his chest, his eyes see a red and gold shadow he _knew_ wasn’t there. This wasn’t the same, it wasn’t the same. He was not Ozpin. He was _not_ going to die in this stupid fire. If he died, then he would die facing Salem with his friends! 

Marin squares up, shoulders wide, an immovable wall. She seemed prepared to watch Rhys burn. 

Rhys was holding his nose making wet, pained, rasping sounds. From the way blood was pouring out, Oscar thought Umber had probably broken it. He stares at them through his fingers, eyes desperate and frenzied, growing wider and ungovernable. 

He swings his blade at them in wide, erratic swoops. A wooden beam falls from the ceiling, separating Oscar and Marin. 

“Why can’t you see?” the man shouts at Oscar, presumably because he was human, angling his weapon down towards him, slicing through smoke, fire, and wood. “They’re lesser than us! A blight! They flee, they scurry, they take, they kill! Trust a faunus and you’ll find a knife in your back! Cunning, conniving, they’re worse than Grimm!” 

Oscar knew he’d inhaled in too much smoke. His legs were weak, he couldn’t see for the stinging tears in his eyes, his lungs were drowning in carbon dioxide. He wouldn’t be able to dodge that. 

A memory surfaces. Aura. Magic. _Whatever._

An explosion of green energy deflects the blade to give Oscar enough time to bring up the Long Memory, one hand on either end of it, before it reaches its final descent. Miraculously, he’s able to block. He stares Rhys in the eyes as best he could, foot sliding backwards. 

_“You’re… wrong.”_

Oscar begins to cough helplessly, his eyes watering. He couldn’t breathe. His arms grow weak. 

Rhys makes a break for it, diving past the two of them now that he had the chance. Oscar blindly stumbles after him, having to jump over a burning beam to do so. Marin gives chase as well. 

_WHUMP!_

Which, apparently, was an escape attempt they needn’t have worried about. The man makes it out the barn, but is laid flat and unconscious by one violent blow from Aunt Emma’s rolling pin. 

“Oh no!” Aunt Emma cries, eyes wide, dropping the pin and clasping her face as they stared at her from just outside the burning building, “I didn’t kill him did I…?” 

Just their luck that only after Rhys was knocked out should the rest of the squad of police arrive. Marin had a lot to say about that. Most of it curse words. 

\--- 

Ozpin had the boy’s Scroll ID now and could call him if he wanted. The headmaster waited only as long as he could endure his growing apprehension before he called. 

The scroll picked up. 

“Uh? Hello?” the voice answered sounding hoarse and unsure. In the background there was a lot of muffled, chaotic noise and a female voice nearby wondered, _“Did we have insurance for that? I can’t remember.”_

“Mr. Pine,” Ozpin starts, evenly and just a bit hesitantly. 

A different voice in the background was saying, _“—and with the help of cute, little—”_

He got the impression a hand had been placed over the receiver when he heard a muted, but helplessly exasperated, _“Stop calling me that.”_ He heard a few more rustling noises, some shouting, and maybe an alarm. He heard loud laughter and a thump soon followed by an _“Ow,”_ sounding suspiciously like voice he knew to be Oscar’s. 

_“Sorry ‘bout that,”_ that same brusque female voice was saying, a flickering, crackling sound bleeding through the other line. _“Forgot which one was your injured shoulder. Want you to know that the smoke overwhelmed me and how proud I—”_

_“Yeah, alright. Listen, I’m not trying to brush you off, Mrs. Marin, I’m just on my Scroll right now. It’s—”_ a series of coughs, _“—important.”_

And then an older voice, male, _“Oscar, wait just a sec, you’ve pulled’a few stitches there…”_

After a few minutes the noise dies down. He hears a door creak and a soft sigh. The boy must have gone somewhere quieter. 

“Sorry about... everything,” the boy apologized. Ozpin felt like he could almost see Oscar throw a hand uselessly into the air. 

“Mr. Pine… what… happened?” 

“Uhh. The police are arresting a ‘Zookeeper’ for counts of murder and attempted assassination. Uh, and part of our barn is still on fire and I don’t think we had insurance since it was so—” _thirty seconds of severe coughing,_ “—old and I’m pretty sure it might have violated occupational safety laws because the second floor didn’t have a railing and my entire library got turned to ash and that’s, like, thirty whole books! And—” 

Ozpin felt it was an inappropriate time to tell young Oscar about Beacon’s library that held a lot more than thirty books because where Oscar is from his probably _would_ be considered a library. Instead, he asked, interrupting, probably saving the boy’s life from asphyxiation, “You helped detain him? The Zookeeper?” 

“My friend was in trouble, so, yeah. Er. Yes. Only a little bit.” 

From the background he hears another muted voice call, _“Oscar! You’re alright! I was so—!”_

More crackling sounds. Whatever the speaker was Ozpin didn’t find out. 

“S-Sorry. I know this is probably unprofessional. Can, uh, can I call you back? Everything is kinda…” 

Ozpin laughs, “Take all the time you need, Mr. Pine. You sound quite busy.” 

The boy apologizes again and then hastily hangs up. 

Ozpin found out more about the actual incident when he went through the trouble of sending for a newspaper from Oscar’s town of residence. In summary it was a Zookeper, like Oscar had said, out to murder the remaining family of a faunus woman he’d killed before whom the family had moved out to the sticks to flee. The police managed to detain and arrest him with the help of a ‘cute, little farmboy’ and his aunt. 

There was a photo in the newspaper of the group at the farm. The boy he recognized to be Oscar, mid-laugh, looking embarrassed and holding a girl with tiny antlers over his shoulders despite the bandages wound around said shoulder. A faunus police detective with spotted markings had her hand on his unwounded shoulder smiling wide at the camera. To his other side, was what looked like a tall man who might be a doctor, who was carefully reaching for the boy’s other shoulder, while looking up at the small girl. There was a smiling woman in the back, one hand on her hip and the other hefting a rolling pin, proud expression on her face and more policemen milling around the smoking barn the photo was taken in front of. All of their clothes looked partially singed and there was soot on their faces. 

When Oscar eventually called back, he’d described it simply as, “Just helping a friend.” No pomp, no exaggeration, no self-aggrandizing. It was refreshingly pure and honest. 

Well... besides maybe stealing an Atlas airship with his possible grandmother in the future or maybe the past, Oscar didn’t seem like a criminal. And he certainly seemed like a good kid. Additionally, he seemed exactly like the kind of huntsman Beacon looked for in its candidates. 

Just to be sure, he called on some of the people shown in the paper to act as character witnesses. 

_“Why?”_ asked a grizzled and threatening voice on the other end of the Scroll. “What do you want with him? That lad don’t need more trouble. You leave him alone.” When he called back for clarification, he got a girl’s voice telling him all about how wonderful Oscar was, what books he’d shown her before the barn fire, and how to catch frogs. 

Another call resulted with, “Oh, you’re asking about the cute little farm boy,” and Ozpin finds himself putting his hand over his face and automatically responding, “Please, don’t call him that.” 

And then backpedaling over, “How dare you! My nephew would never steal an airship! Just what do you think you are implying! Who do you think y—!” 

Getting reliable information on Oscar Pine from those that knew him was more excruciating than catching rapier wasps. Ozpin massaged the sides of his head. He was getting a migraine. 

\--- 

“Given the courts, will he even be prosecuted?” Auntie Em was asking the next afternoon when Umber and Oscar arrived in their living room. 

Marin looks at Aunt Emma, then at them. She gives a sly, sneaky wink. 

“Sweethearts, this is the country. He’s in _my_ custody. In _my_ jurisdiction. You understand what I’m getting at?” 

Oscar looked at Umber, Umber looked at Oscar. They both looked back at Marin. Neither of them got it. 

“I think that’s enough for one day,” Aunt Emma hastily interrupts, a stern hand on both Oscar and Umber’s backs steering them back the way they came, shooting a disapproving look towards Marin. “Let’s help our little Umber pack, shall we?” 

“I’m not little!” Umber grumbles, following along with Aunt Emma. 

This time Oscar is the one to laugh. 

\---

“Are you sure about this?” Glynda asked once he informed her of his decision, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and looking at him doubtfully like he was taking an incalculable risk. 

“Well, there’s no arguing he’s certainly… an anomaly. I’d rather keep an eye on him here than have him out of our sight, don’t you think?” 

Glynda didn’t look quite as convinced. 

Weeks later Oscar received a large manila envelope. He opened it with trepidation… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And YOU get some trauma and YOU get some trauma! Trauma for everyone and for everyone a trauma!! 
> 
> Also TFW the past-future mystery boy is cryptic and unhelpful. I hope you’ve been enjoying the ride so far. Thank you for all your comments!
> 
> Edit: it looks like there's a couple of formatting/forgotten words/weird turns of phrases in here that I missed the first nine million runs through that I'll be editing out the next few days.


	6. Well, What Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flops* We finally made it to Beacon, everyone...!

_ “Are you… robbing me?” _

_ “Yes!” _

_ “Ohhh…” _

Ruby Rose goes after Roman Torchwick that night under the broken moon because that’s what a Huntress is supposed to do. They protect people when no one else will, stand in the way of the cruel and wicked, and leave the world a better place than they found it. They fought the monsters in the night and gave quiet comfort to the frightful. Ruby didn’t think she was fearless. She wasn’t braver than anyone else, wasn’t stronger, but she was willing try to help those she could in the face of catastrophe. 

_ That’s  _ what she thought mattered. Trying. To do the right thing even when it was hard. Maybe  _ especially _ when it was hard.

That night Professor Ozpin asked her why she wanted to be a Huntress and her words hadn’t come out quite right. People misunderstood her when she talked about wanting to be a hero like in the books. She’d seen it in the way Glynda Goodwitch had looked at her during the interview, like she was airheaded and naïve. She understood why, she really did. Real life was different from the stories. Books made reality seem simple and easy instead of messy and difficult. She’d called being a Huntress romantic and cool but that’s not exactly what she  _ meant _ .

_ “Okay… get her!” _

_ Henchmen charge at her from the entrance of the Dust shop and Ruby lifts her body up into the air using Crescent Rose both as a fulcrum and as a mechanism to pirouette effortlessly, legs ruthlessly knocking one of the henchmen to the ground. She knew what people expected of her in battle. A lot of boys at Signal had wanted to prove to each other how strong and manly they were only to be dumbfounded once taken down by this tiny, waiflike girl with an oversized scythe. People thought no way could she be any sort of threat. They expected a fumbling-bumbling-stumbling kind of girl. _

_ They were wrong.  _

What she  _ meant _ is that she wanted to be there for those who needed her. She’s seen what loss can do to people. She couldn’t stand around and do  _ nothing _ when people around her were hurting.

Dad and Yang thought she hadn’t noticed growing up—that her father had been gripped by an unfathomable despair, unable to handle the loss of everyone who’d gotten close to him. That it was her Uncle, who even she found drunk in a puddle of his own vomit more than once on the bathroom floor when she was little, who got Dad to take showers, get dressed, and keep it together. She hadn’t missed that Yang was eyes of fire, bruises, and teeth, fist after fist  _ and _ the one who held a soft, cool hand to her forehead when she was sick, trembling, and feverish, who kept her fed when Dad was too distant and lost to do it, who looked at her with pride and love, as Mom had. 

Ruby’s mom left on a mission and never came back. It had gouged an empty hollow into all their chests, twisting ever deeper with each revolution, carving the hearts out of them. They bled tears and clawed their way through the years with agony, endless grief pumping through their veins.

_ “Persistent _ ,”  _ Torchwick mutters under his breath when she catches up to him atop the roof. There’s a bright light and a bullhead carrier rises from below, whipping her hair behind her as her hands tighten on the scythe. _

_ “End of the line, Red,” the man calls out, tossing uncut Burn Dust at her. _

_ It takes her a few seconds to divine his intentions, but when she does, it’s a few seconds too late to react. Torchwick takes his shot and the crystal explodes. _

But there is  _ nothing _ that is infinite.

Not even loss.

Dad returned to teaching. Yang learned how to fight. Qrow stopped passing out on the bathroom floor.

And Ruby grew up. 

From the moment she’d listened to her first fairy tale to the moment she started learning how to fight, too, and eventually to now, eating cookies in front of the headmaster of Beacon Academy, she had known what she wanted to be. She wanted to fight monsters, big and small. She wanted to help people and she wanted to bring a little good into the world.

It was impossible to be there for everyone, she knew. Being able to help  _ everyone _ was the real fairytale. But just because something was impossible didn’t mean it was foolish to try. Choosing to help someone didn’t mean choosing not to help someone else. _No one’s_ actions are that small. Tiny, insignificant acts of kindness, love, and protecting people when they needed it. Those were the things she believed in.

And if not her, then who?

Besides, Huntresses  _ were  _ cool and kinda romantic.

_ That night, Ruby dreams of snow falling in a city she’s never seen. _

_ Os… _

_ c…  _

_ ar— _

There’s a voice calling his name. He could barely hear it or, maybe, he didn’t understand it? The syllables were garbled and distorted, like he was underwater. Like he was drowning. He felt heavy, so  _ heavy _ . His head was filled with hammering static, his bones full of throbbing lead. He started to sink further into whatever dark unconscious realm he’d slipped into. 

_ Os… car…! _

The voice becomes insistent even though it was far, far away, deeper underwater, deeper in the darkness where light dare not travel. He vaguely feels a sense of panic and dread that is not his own. Wait. No. That doesn’t make sense. Not his own? Yet he was certain of what he felt, even if he wasn’t the one who was feeling it.

There’s a question on his lips but he is too weighed down, too sluggish, and too  _ everything _ to do anything but maybe  _ will _ a strained, hollow sense of dull confusion in the direction of whatever it was that was feeling feelings.

There was no response from the voice. They were too far from each other to communicate. Transmission failed.

Oscar allows his consciousness to drift aimlessly. Static in his head, lead in his bones, a wrongness settling into his heart. He reaches out to a forgotten memory…

…

Oscar wakes up on the train. Had he been dreaming? Maybe. He couldn’t remember.

Leaving home had been… hard. Harder than the first time he’d left. 

Last time he’d left without a word and without a note. It had felt wrong to go and it felt wrong to stay, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t find in himself the courage to tell his aunt why he had to leave and that he was hearing voices. Or, well,  _ a  _ voice. He had still been thinking he was losing his mind at that point and couldn’t bear to see how his aunt might look at him.

This time, however, everyone he’d gotten to know came with him to the station to say their goodbyes and to wish him well before he could buy his tickets. Marin had lifted him off his feet and had given him a spine-crushing bear hug, telling him how much she’d miss her little sparring partner. (She’d also miss trying to set him up with one of her daughters, but Oscar decided if she wasn’t going to mention it then neither was he.)

His aunt also hugged him and cried telling him how much she loved him and how proud of him she was and how she knew he was going to do great things, which then made _him_ cry.

Umber had held his hand all the way to the station, resolutely holding back her own tears. She didn’t want him to go, but she knew this was something he wanted so she was trying to show him her support. She hugged him tight and afterwards held out a small package to him. A going away gift.

“Don’t open it until you’re on the train!” Umber scolded him indignantly when he tried to take a peek inside. She was a lot more self-assured now since she’d taken off her hat and stomped on Rhys’ terrible face. Oscar was glad for it.

Even Ed crouched down and hugged him, murmuring a quiet “Thank you for everything” in his ear and like Umber, pressed something into his hands when they parted.

“These are pre-paid tickets!” Oscar exclaimed. “When did you—?”

Ed laughed, “Pretty much as soon as I knew when you were going.” 

Oscar couldn’t help but be astonished. In the months before the semester started, he’d worked hard at the farm and at the market nearby doing odd jobs to save up as much as he could for the travel costs and whatever else he might need in the future. This was too much, he couldn’t accep—

“Don’t even tell me something like you can’t accept this,” Ed told him, as if reading his mind. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re family.”

Oscar brings his sleeve up to his eyes.

“I’ll take care of your aunt while you’re gone. I know that’s what you’re worried about the most.”

“She can take care of herself, thank you,” his aunt pipes up.

Ed winked.

Soon after that, it was time for the train to leave and as it pulled away from the station, the adults waved goodbye and Umber ran alongside the train until there was no more platform left.

On the train, now awake and bored, Oscar watches the scenery outside fly past.

Traveling to Beacon made him a little nervous. Half of all the trains he’s been on have crashed. That’s, like, a fifty percent chance of disaster based on past statistics. Given that he’d been carrying an ancient invaluable magic lantern that attracted Grimm at the time, it was hard to blame the train itself for that particular misfortune. However, he’d also been shot down after helping steal an airship, which, okay, yeah, maybe not the best circumstances to find himself in, but it didn’t make his journey using alternative transportation feel any more safe.

The trip to Beacon required a train ride  _ and  _ passage aboard an airship. Those were  _ two  _ things that could potentially crash on him.

_ No, stop _ , he chides himself.  _ We’ve talked about this. You’re catastrophizing. Focus on something else. _

He opens Umber’s gift.

It’s packets of hot chocolate and a necklace. The pendant was an orange camellia flower bud, just blooming, pressed between two thin pieces of diamond-shaped glass with a silver wire frame. It came with a note.

_ Dear Oscar, _

_ I’m so glad I was able to meet you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for playing with me, and reading to me, and being my friend. Thank you for saving me again. I know you have to go and Vale is far away but we’re still gonna be friends, OK? _

_ P.S. _

_ I made this! Daddy says camellia flowers are a symbol of strength to overcome ~~affercity~~ ~~advercity~~ adversity. You helped me look at what made me scared and let me choose what to do. I hope it can help you do the same when you’re scared too. _

_ I love you lots. Thank you so much. _

_ Sincerely _

_ -Umber _

His heart felt warm and he couldn’t stop smiling all the way to the airship.

Once he reaches the airship and it takes off, Oscar spots a girl with red hair and golden armor.  _ Oh no. Oh no oh no. _ That’s right. She was from Mistral. She went to Sanctum. Even he had known her name before he’d been drawn into this war without end, before he took his first uncertain step away from home, before he started to hear a voice in his head, self-assured but tinged with a hidden sorrow. He’d seen her face on the cereal box, he’d seen her face lit green in the vault. He puts his head in his hands, fire in the dark, an inferno under his skin.  _ Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think— _

“Are you alright?”

Oscar looks up from his hands.

She’s standing next to him looking down at him. Kind green eyes, a warm smile, both older than him and far too young to die.

“M… Migraine,” he manages to tell the phantom, somehow. Nothing felt real. He couldn’t feel his fingers. Everything was hot. He was spiraling again.

“Oh, well… I think there’s still some empty seats we can sit down in back there. Here, let me show you if you don’t mind.”

Oscar followed Pyrrha with silent horror rising off him in dark waves.  _ He’d never met her, he didn’t know her. He’d never met her, he didn’t know her. _ But he  _ did _ know her. He knew the way she’d touched the lives of everyone in team JNPR and RWBY. Knew that Jaune and Ruby both blamed themselves for how she died even if it was a battle she chose to fight and they had both been powerless to stop her. He’d seen the way she looked at him—no, wrong again, looked at  _ Ozpin _ —in the machine, determined.

_ Oh no oh no oh no. _ Going to Beacon had been a bad idea. What had he been thinking? Why had he thought he could change anything if he could barely handle seeing a girl he knew would die? He can’t… he can’t let that happen… but he was just one person…

She helps him into one of the seats in front of a window while he quietly freaks out and sits down with him. A small weight presses the inside of his pocket and Oscar finds himself clutching tightly the necklace Umber had made for him.

“It’s okay,” she tells him kindly and with relaxed patience. “I’m right beside you. Breathe.”

He does so, holding the necklace to his chest with both hands. Breathe, breathe, breathe, man was made of Dust, sea, and stars; things that were greater than both Ozpin and Salem and himself. Even Ozpin was once just a man. Salem, too, once just a woman.

And he was just Oscar and he was going to try his best. 

When he calms down enough to start breathing normally, Pyrrha points out the window, “Look, you can see Signal from here.”

Oscar looks. Oh. So that was Signal. That was where Ruby trained before she went to Beacon.

It occurs to him that Ruby wouldn’t have stopped moving forward. If her place were swapped with his, she would still choose to go to Beacon, still choose to fight Salem. She would have pressed on and kept fighting. She would make that choice and she would never look back or regret it.

She didn’t back down because something was hard or she got scared, instead, she squared up.

Thinking about that helped calm him down further, making him feel real and human and whole again.

“S-Sorry,” he apologizes. “And thank you, Miss Nikos.”

He only realized what he said after he said it and started to silently panic once again because like “James” that was an  _ Oz  _ slip of the tongue who  _ still wasn’t here and— _ but before he could start to unravel, Pyrrha responds. 

“Oh, you don’t have to be so formal. Especially since you already know who I am. Actually, I already know who you are too.”

_ What?! _

“…W-What?”

“I saw you earlier when we were all boarding and I thought you looked a little young to be going to Beacon, but then I remembered seeing your face in a newspaper article. From what I recall, last spring you helped to apprehend a murderer. Am I wrong?”

“…No…” he puts his hands over his face, feeling suddenly embarrassed, “You’re right. Please tell me it was a very small article in the back that no one else read.”

He’d forgotten about the photographer. And the reporter. He lived in the middle of nowhere and no one really paid attention to newspapers and it wasn’t like a lot happened there, so he didn't expect anyone outside of where he lived to really care abou— 

Pyrrha laughed.

“A- _ ha _ . A ‘humble hero’, huh?”

“It’s not like that,” he tells her hastily, “I just don’t like being the center of attention, you know?”

“Believe me,” Pyrrha says, face turning serious, “I know the feeling. Don’t worry, I was just visiting some relatives out in the country when I saw it. I don’t think the story made it anywhere else.” 

They’re quiet for a while and she eventually asks, “Does that happen often? Your panic attacks?”

“Panic attack?”

“Yes, p—it’s… Oscar, right? Can I call you that?” He nods. “Oscar, do you not know what a panic attack is?”

“No, I know what one is, I just don’t think I’ve ever…”

Oscar knew he frightened easily and panicked often, but the circumstances he and teams RWBY and JNPR found themselves in were, of themselves, panic-worthy. Maria taunted angry old women into firing missiles at them, Ruby dove down cannon barrels and then goes to face a Leviathan alone right after, Jaune throws himself into battle with Cinder without a thought for himself, tall, skeletal Grimm burn in an abandoned farmhouse in Brunswick…

In the middle of it all, he’d just been Oscar. New to fighting for his life, new to fighting for and supporting others. It was easy to feel scared all the time. With time, he’d started to feel less scared after each encounter, but he thought that composure only started settling over his shoulders once the reached Atlas.

Sure, sometimes he would spiral and think himself in a corner on his own when the thought about how  _ big  _ everything was, how important their mission was, what the cost of failing was, but he didn’t think he’d ever had a panic attack before. And… he didn’t think it was  _ just  _ his feelings he was shouldering right now. These images, memories, small terrors and guilt were Ozpin’s. Ozma’s. Whoever’s.

And it was a lot harder to manage being bombarded by the recent past of a previous life when their feelings were bleeding into yours.

Pyrrha hums in thought.

“It looks like we’ll be arriving soon. Do you mind if we stick together? It’d be nice to start the school year with someone I already know.” 

_ Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no o— _

Oscar gives a crooked smile.

“That sounds great,” his treacherous mouth responds to the girl who would be dead and whom he now desperately wanted to save.

Going to Beacon was a terrible idea, he kept telling himself, it spawned a countless number of emotional horrors and triggers. If spotting Pyrrha had been bad, being on campus was worse. It was like being back at Atlas, besieged with memories and impulses that weren’t  _ his _ and he had to carefully navigate what to follow through on and what to ignore. He kept seeing images of battle. Destroyed buildings, ripped flagstone, fire, the onslaught of Atlesian Knights, campus overrun with Grimm…

…Fallen students.

It was hell.

He hadn’t thought this through. He was so far in over his head and there was no turning back. All he had planned for was  _ getting _ to Beacon, he hadn’t thought about what he would  _ do  _ once he got there. Convince Ozpin, obviously. But how? Prevent the fall of Beacon? Save Pyrrha?  _ How? _ If he didn’t even know the major events that made it happen, then  _ how? _

_ No, Oscar. Stop. Focus on what you know. _

Oscar  _ knew _ he could get into Beacon’s vault on his own, could even map his route in his mind from where he was even though this was the first time his feet have touched the flagstones. But even if he ran to defend Ozpin to prevent him from dying at Cinder’s hands, what could he really do? Ozpin had years…. Millenia of experience, in battle and in strategy and Oscar… was Oscar. 

_ Okay, don’t panic, just put it on a list of problems to consider in due time. _

Then there was the matter of teams RWBY and JNPR. What was he even supposed to say? Hi, guys, I’m Oscar. I’m a friend and teammate of yours from the future and also sometimes your headmaster who died horribly? Hope we get along!

How could he ease them into the truth? How  _ much _ could he change events or prepare the others for the events in the future? …How much  _ should _ he change events? Science-fiction had a lot to say about the rules of time-travel, but in all practicality, if events deviated too far from the original timeline, then his knowledge of future events would be  _ useless _ . Even if his knowledge of future events didn’t get more exact until  _ after  _ Beacon falls.

If he changes the past drastically, then Salem would respond differently, and he wasn’t sure he could risk that. He didn’t want everyone caught unaware. He wanted to save Beacon, he wanted Haven to stay untouched like in his timeline, he didn’t want Atlas to fall. If he saved Beacon, would Salem change plans from going after Haven next?

And that was all presuming he, one person, could even do enough to prevent the disasters he knows are coming. It also presumes he might be  _ selfish  _ enough to only change the past enough where only he still knew what was going to happen.

_ Okay, ethical dilemma five thousand and problem number nine million. Time to move on for now.  _

The more he thought about it, the more he thought that everyone would have to be eased into it. Fed pieces of information at the right time so that they’d be prepared, but not too prepared so as to not skew so far from what he knew that he made things  _ worse _ .

But that felt so incredibly like Ozpin. It made him feel so torn up and resentful. Maybe there was another option…

Oscar didn’t hate Ozpin. Actually, he could understand his actions on an emotional level even if he didn’t approve. He’d lied to Qrow his entire life, lied to Ironwood and his lieutenants about the real scope of their enemy, kept people in the dark because he couldn’t allow himself to fully trust them. Ozpin was  _ afraid _ . And he got it. He really did. He was afraid all the time, too. Their task was far too big for one person alone and with the insidious machinations and manipulations of Salem, he could see why it would be so hard to trust others.

_ But he can’t win this war alone _ .  _**We** can’t win this war alone. They had to do this **together**.  
_

Oscar also understood the other,  _ darker _ impulse that came with being the hand that guided everyone to the better future because you had knowledge and experience others didn’t. It was about having control. Being able to control what happened in the future and devising to shape the world into the one you wanted with the people loyal to you.

It was an  _ incredibly _ scary impulse to wrestle with.

But he was going to do the best he could being as honest as he could. Lying was… something he wasn’t good at and a skill he didn’t care to improve on, but he  _ couldn’t _ show all his cards until he had enough information to make his move.

His own words to Ironwood during their final confrontation came back to him in full force:  _ “If you abandon Mantle, then you abandon our best chance of reuniting the world! You abandon Remnant! Leaving millions to fend for themselves so a few can survive!” _

“You alright there, Oscar?” Pyrrha asks him, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re falling behind.”

Honestly, and strangely enough, he wasn’t sure he would have even made it to the auditorium if Pyrrha hadn’t been with him.

“Just thinking,” he responds, matching his pace with hers.

He _refused_ to abandon Remnant. He refused to abandon Mantle. This wasn’t Mantle, but it didn’t mean the stakes weren’t just as high. If he allowed Beacon to fall, then Mantle would find itself in the same situation it was dealing with  _ now. _

_…Then_ , he corrects himself. Then, in the future-past.

He wanted to mend the world. He wanted to prevent Beacon from falling, Pyrrha and Oz from dying, stop the world from growing wary and paranoid, nearing the brink of war—reunited before even having a chance to fall apart. He wanted Qrow and Ironwood to know the truth, the real threat of what they were facing. He wanted justice for Mantle.

Whatever he decided on, whatever path he chose, he had to  _ try _ . It was going to be hard. Maybe harder than anything he’s already done so far. He didn’t ask for this. But he couldn’t let fear worm its way into his heart like it had with Ozpin. Like Ironwood. That’s what Salem thrived on. He had to do the best he could. He had to be the one who took the next steps.

Because… if not him, then who?

Somewhere in the courtyard behind them just beyond the edge of hearing, someone sneezes followed by a small Fire Dust explosion which is then soon followed by shrill, angry yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind comments as I put each chapter out. I'm always super nervous about putting out new chapters but I'm also excited for you all to read what happens in each chapter, and I really love to hear your thoughts and reactions. I really appreciate it and all of you are so lovely.


	7. Best Day Ever!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm, ha ha, a little mean to Ozpin this chapter. Please forgive me. :3c

Ruby was not having the best day ever. She’d been unexpectedly moved ahead two years. That’s _two years_ of missed training and education that all her peers would have and she wouldn’t. Not to mention, none of her friends could come to Beacon with her because _they_ didn’t have a special recommendation from the eccentric, but also cool, aloof, and mysterious, headmaster of the school. Yang didn’t get it because of _course_ she didn’t get it. Yang thrived in attention, like a flower in the sun.

Ruby already had difficulty dealing with social situations let alone trying to fit in among people who were all going to be older than her with twice the amount of training. She didn’t need any more light shed on her making her stand out and feel even more uncomfortable. She was a bundle of nerves and it didn’t help when she ran into a crabby princess and exploded. Who she then later met again in the auditorium.

She also didn’t appreciate the Dust for Dummies and Other Inadequate Individuals brochure she now had stuffed unceremoniously in her pocket.

Ruby hoped she could stay as far, far away as possible from this girl and her attitude for the rest of the school year. There were only so many times she could apologize and while Yang was unrestrained and outgoing in her social interactions she also wasn’t wrong growing up saying that someone who repeatedly demanded an apology long after you’ve already given many heartfelt, sincere ones didn’t deserve her patience or quarter.

Not that… Ruby was going to _say_ that to her face. She thought, maybe, she would just try not to be noticed so much in the future. Maybe hide in the corner if they shared classes.

(Meeting Jaune wasn’t so bad, though. Even if he did seem dorkier and more awkward than _she_ was and frankly that should earn him some sort of prize.)

 _Anyway_ , back to the topic of _attending_ Beacon, even if she felt shy and nervous and like there were far too many eyes on her, it wasn’t like she was going to say _no_ to attending early. This was her _dream_. She was excited, there were so many cool weapons, she saw someone with a fire sword! She was going to learn so much. She was going to be a _Huntress_.

Just like Mom.

“Hey, look, sis,” Yang says just a little too loudly and pointing. “ _He_ looks like he’s your age. He’s tiny. Another bee’s knees! Which means… normal knees!”

“Yang, please! Not so loud. He’ll hear us!”

Ruby grabs her sister arm and tugs it back down. Normal girl, normal knees, which meant not having your sister pointing at strangers in the middle of a crowd and drawing their attention.

“Great, just great! It’s bad enough they let someone like _you_ in here,” Weiss scoffed next to them, staring daggers at Ruby. “But it looks like they’ll just let any _child_ walk in, too! This is supposed to be a prestigious institution, not some… some playhouse!”

 _Well, excuse me,_ Ruby grumbles in her thoughts. 

The boy in question was standing next to a girl with red hair that Ruby thought looked very familiar and who she could probably place if her mind and heart weren’t racing at the moment. They hadn’t escaped the attention of the boy (or his friend) because Ruby saw him turn his head and look over his shoulder at them, a curious expression on his face.

_“Yang, see what you did, he’s looking at us!”_

“So? Just go over and say hi. Here, why don’t I—?”

Yang goes to take one big step forward to approach the boy to introduce herself, smile plastered on her face, but Ruby tugs her arm sharply back. Sometimes Yang overcompensated for Ruby’s reservations about meeting new people with disproportionate exuberance, and although Ruby knew her sister had her best interests at heart, Yang wasn’t always the best at reading the mood.

Not that, you know, Ruby was any better. But at least she knew not to point at people and talk about them in public when they could hear you!

“C’mon, Yang…”

 _“You’re going to cause a commotion,”_ Weiss tells them sharply, arching her perfectly sculpted brows and crossing her arms, putting a stop to any resistance Yang might put up.

Her sister sighs, arm going slack.

Ruby mouths the word “S-orry,” at the boy who was still looking at them appearing a little flustered, and ducks behind Yang to avoid eye contact. If you can’t see them, they can’t see you. That’s the rules.

She didn’t see the shy smile he sent her way.

Then Professor Ozpin made his weird, cryptic speech that puzzled everyone in the audience. 

_Don’t think about it, don’t think ab—_

Pyrrha seemed popular, most likely because she was a legitimate celebrity and that’s what celebrities were: popular. She’d graduated top of her class at Sanctum, won the Mistral Regional Tournament four years in a row, which was a new record, all in addition to being strong, smart, pretty and featured on a cereal box. Oscar understood why a lot of people had tried to get her attention during their campus tour and orientation. Although, and Oscar wasn’t sure why, she seemed a little reluctant to interact with them. A lot of people, upon finding out that, yes, actually, she was _that_ Pyrrha, wanted to be friends with her or exchange Scroll numbers. Maybe she was introverted or socially anxious like he was? He wasn’t entirely convinced of that though, considering how she had no problem approaching and chatting with him when she was helping him earlier on the airship.

He’d peek at team RWBY throughout the day feeling both a sense of comfort and unease. Also, maybe feeling a little bit like a creep. Was it creepier to wait to meet each other “naturally” or to try to seize the opportunity and introduce himself and hopefully make friends with them again? What if they didn’t like the version of Oscar he was now? Maybe they only liked him as the Oscar they had first met?

Except, from their current perspective, the Oscar he was now would be the Oscar they first meet, and the later Oscar wouldn’t be…Ugh. No. He can’t think about that right now. Focus, focus…

They were all a little bit younger. Yang was more animated, more bubbly. She didn’t feel as intimidating as he usually found her to be. Oscar never doubted for a second that Yang was kind, protective, and loving, because she _was_ all those things, but of everyone in team RWBY she scared him the most. It hadn’t been directed at him, but the way she yelled, expression wild, stance taut and coiled like an arrow poised before release after Ozpin had left them all in the snow, frightened him to his core.

But this Yang still had a flesh-and-blood arm. This Yang hadn’t met her mother at Haven who sided with Salem spewing barbs and cold rhetoric. This Yang hadn’t yet been lied to after being promised he wouldn't by Ozpin.

He had yet to see Blake more than once. He’d spotted her on the edge of the crowd in the auditorium looking haunted and distant, but once he looked again, she was gone.

Weiss was… different. He’d heard stories about what she was like at Beacon, but he had only ever come to know “Nice Weiss,” as the others called her, so he wasn’t entirely sure how to react. Had she really treated Ruby this way? He would never have known with the way the two of them went through such great lengths to protect each other. They loved and trusted each other. They were best friends, partners, family.

Or… they would be…? _Ugh, time travel_.

He’d only known the Weiss who hung back as Yang and Ruby hugged, looking tired and lonely, once they finally reunited. He’d only known the Weiss whose dress was streaked with dirt and whose eyes teared up when she was motioned to join them. He could only remember the small moments when it came to Weiss. Holding a blanket close to her and following after Ruby in Brunswick looking, even to him, tiny and frightened. Or, even if he had been trying not to die of asphyxiation after playing marionette to Ozpin’s will when the battle of Haven concluded at the time, Weiss joining in welcoming Blake back into their team, one tearful, heartfelt hug as one.

Ruby was a little different too, but maybe not as much. He tried not to stare at her or the rest of the team because this Ruby seemed a lot more socially awkward than the one he knew. Also, that would be super creepy. The Ruby he had met and known had been a _leader_. This one… _would_ be. He could see it, and not just because he’d experienced it. It was because Ruby was Ruby and she _was_ the leader. She called the shots, she made hard decisions, she gave her all for the team and the mission and she never sacrificed her integrity or others to do it. She cared, about everyone, and even when things got impossibly difficult she still tried to be supportive, empathetic, and kind.

She still kept going.

Not that… the Ruby he’d known _wasn’t_ socially awkward too among those things but…

Oscar put his head in his hands when he remembered his last interaction with Ruby at Atlas. Awkward laughing, awkward eye contact, awkward goodbyes. Ugh, why was he so _awkward_? It was seriously uncool. He keeps cringing inwardly at himself until Pyrrha gives him a questioning look as they were making their way to the dining hall to have their first meal at Beacon.

Oscar just keeps yelling internally. His last interaction with Ruby was spent being…

No, actually, it didn’t matter how it looked. He just wished… he’d said _more_. _Come back safe_ or _I'll always believe in you_ or...

No, wait, that was even more embarrassing than what he did say. Maybe it was better he hadn’t…

“Hey there,” said a boy, sliding up to where he and Pyrrha were walking, tearing his thoughts away from Ru—team RWBY. The other boy’s attention was focused solely on Pyrrha, blatantly ignoring Oscar—which wasn’t hard, exactly, he probably hadn’t even noticed him because of how tall he was. Another soon-to-be friend for Pyrrha, Oscar thought.

The other boy continued smoothly, “Couldn’t help but notice you looked a little lonely over here. Why don’t you let me keep you company? We can talk about technique, what do you say?”

Oscar could almost see the sparkle in his teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha apologizes, sounding polite, but once again, or at least to his ears, reluctant. She suddenly placed her hands on Oscar’s shoulders and turned him around back in the direction they’d just come from. “But I was just helping Oscar look for something he lost. Isn’t that right, Oscar?”

“Uh…?”

“Another time then,” Pyrrha says with tired cheer, giving a short wave and marches Oscar along with her.

“Pyrrha, what—?”

“Sorry about that, but, well, you know…” she trails off.

Oscar didn’t know. He tilts his head to the side.

“Oscar, you mean, this whole day, you didn’t know that people were—?” Pyrrha interrupts herself, “Oh Oscar, you’re _precious.”_

She laughs, reaches out, and aggressively ruffles his hair.

“I… what? Hey! Stop that!”

Pyrrha continued to laugh wholeheartedly.

After lights-out, Oscar couldn’t fall asleep and decided to go outside for some fresh air. He also felt worried that if he _did_ fall asleep, he’d have another nightmare and it’s not the kind of thing he wanted everyone to know he suffered from. It had been embarrassing enough when Auntie Em asked about it.

Now that he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it, he gave in. Seeing Ozpin up on stage had been hard. Seeing Ozpin in person even though he’d been among a crowd was hard. He wasn’t spiraling, not this time. It was just… his throat felt tight.

He reflected.

_“You know you’re not him, right, Oscar?” Weiss asked him once, as if it were a matter of fact, when they had been the last ones still in the training room. “Oh, don’t put your foot that far forward.”_

_Oscar adjusted his footing according to Weiss’ instructions holding his cane aloft in front of him. Mirror opposite him, Weiss settles into an en garde position. Together they had decided that matching him against Weiss would help him master the lightning fast multi-strike technique Ozpin’s fighting style embodied since she employed a similar style._

_Weiss had incredible speed, however. With tactical calculation, she tore through the battlefield even faster with those Glyphs to help her out, skating past her opponents with such grace, beauty, and ease. She would attack from multiple angles, wearing her opponent down with quick thrusts that left very little room to counter._

_“What do you mean?”_

_Weiss lunged forward at hypersonic speed and Oscar miraculously parried, knocking her sword to the side and following up with a two-handed swing. But Weiss is faster, because Weiss is always faster. She does a split-second twirl to position her weapon precisely where she wanted it and blocked his strike. Immediately after she went on the offensive again._

_She ricocheted from her place before him, to the training wall to the side, to just above and drives down at him with dauntless, unrelenting force. Not to be caught unaware a second time, Oscar had been ready for her the half second after he’d seen the telltale signs of the Glyph forming beneath her feet and anticipated where she might target him from._

_Their weapons clash._

_“I’m talking about Oz, of course,” she says, pressing Myrtenaster harder against him, making him take a step backwards. “Straighter—but lower stance. Here, let me show you.”_

_They lowered their weapons and she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing back sharply so he’d correctly align his spine in the proper form. Her hand stayed there for a moment, eyes staring into his, clear and blue._

_“I know it’s not the same, and Ozpin wasn’t your father, but I feel as though we have a little in common in that regard. Carrying a legacy, that is. Even if yours is a little…” she paused, brows somewhat furrowed, looking for the right word, “…unconventional.”_

_Oscar frowned, which Weiss saw and gave him a pointed look that seemed to say, “I know, I know...”_

_Weiss continued, voice small but not unsteady._

_“For years I was expected to live up to and carry on the Schnee family name. I used to be so **proud** of it.” _

_Here, Weiss took her hand back which was quickly curling into a tight, shaking fist. Her gaze was fixed on a point just beyond Oscar’s ear. Weiss didn’t like to talk about herself. She was quick to assert her personality and opinions, but she rarely willingly shared her feelings when it came to anything personal._

_After hearing about Jacques Schnee from the others, he understood why._

_“Even after leaving home, splintering from my father and escaping his dominion, it’s still a name I carry. People I’ve never met think they know me. I’m no longer an heiress, I’ve been disinherited, and still I am associated with and expected to answer for the dishonor my father has committed in our name. I feel so guilty and angry for contributing to the disparity of the world by being so complacent, even if my perspective of the world had been carefully controlled and engineered before going to Beacon. But just like me, guilt by association, you’re not responsible for Ozpin’s past actions, Oscar.”_

_This was… a lot. Honestly, he felt privileged she trusted him with this much of herself._

_Oscar had felt a connection with her before, even though he didn’t think either of them have ever talked about it. He wasn’t sure their circumstances were the same, but like him she also flinched when things got heated and people started raising their voices in anger._ _He hadn’t thought they had much in common beyond that. She came from a wealthy family, she was a combat specialist, and her every action spoke of refinery and elegance. Although, when she put things in that perspective, he did suddenly feel like he had a lot more in common with Weiss than he’d thought._

_“I will be though. Someday.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_He sighed._

_“Let’s just get back to training.”_

_Weiss smiled. Oscar didn’t see the glint of mischievousness until it was too late._

_“That’s… cheating…” Oscar groaned from the floor after her little summoned knight knocked him down there._

_“One must always keep an awareness of the battlefield,” Weiss responded with mock-stiffness, before covering her mouth with a hand as if smothering a smile. She was playing with him. Shortly after, she joins him on the floor, elegantly tucking her legs to the side of her like a born princess._

_“We all know you’re trying hard,” Weiss told him. “You don’t have to make up for the mistakes Oz made.”_

_“I will eventually, won’t I?”_

_“No. Ruby said you were your own person and I believe that too. We wouldn’t even know what we know now without you. Maybe you can’t forgive Oz for the responsibility he gave you or the lies he’s told, but I think you should at least forgive yourself.”_

_“He just… left us, Weiss. Abandoned us and the mission. Doesn’t that make you angry?”_

_Oz wasn’t the bad guy, Oscar knew this. He was trying to do the right thing and he really did have faith in humanity even if he didn’t have faith in individuals. He was a liar, he trusted no one, and he was manipulative, but Oscar didn’t think he was the bad guy. It didn’t stop him from feeling guilty and angry. Angry because he left. Angry because he kept secrets from him in his own body and fought so hard against him to stop from giving Ruby the vital information about Jinn. Guilty because he was right there with Ozpin as he watched his past unfold. Felt the love, and hate, and hurt, and trauma he had because of Salem. Felt his suffocating grief, white-hot shame, and immeasurable fear._

_It wasn’t fun being the electrical conductor for the current of someone else’s emotions, let alone—as Weiss had correctly surmised—suffering guilt from association._

_“But **you** haven’t,” Weiss argued. “You’re still here. That matters a lot. You can be angry at Ozpin, but being angry at Ozpin doesn’t mean you have to be angry at yourself.” _

_Weiss hadn't said whether or not it made her angry._

_“Ruby said something like that to me once, back in Haven. Not the angry part, but, um, that even trying was brave.”_

_“Well, she would and she’s not wrong. You’ve always worked hard even though we all can tell how scary this is for you. You’re scared, but you’re here with us anyway. Ruby’s admired that since day o—nhh… A-Ahem. Actually,” Weiss suddenly changed the subject, becoming unexpectedly flustered, both hands running along her braid like she was cradling it, as if reassuring herself, “if you haven’t eaten dinner yet, shall we go together? I think we’re finished here.”_

_“Huh? Well… alright. Hey… Weiss?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Thank you. You’re not responsible for your father, either.”_

_Weiss helped him up from the floor with a gentle smile and fluffed his hair._

“Good evening, Mr. Pine. I didn’t take you for a rule breaker.”

Ozpin found Oscar after curfew sitting on the steps overlooking the courtyard watching the moon and stars. He had wanted to speak to him in private about what he’d said during their interview, about “the world not having the luxury of time,” but he didn’t think he’d have a chance until classes started. Did he know about Salem or not? If so, _what_ did he know?

He seemed like a sensitive boy and there was nothing that he’d discovered about him that seemed to indicate otherwise. Ozpin had tried to keep a discreet eye over him throughout the day. Quiet and bashful in social situations, modest, shy, distracted. Not all that different from other teenagers arriving at Beacon for the first time.

Nevertheless, Ozpin needed to be absolutely certain.

If the visions in his dreams were correct—as bizarre and unreliable as it may be to entertain such a notion—then they would suggest Oscar knew about Salem—disagreeing with James in the future about some things mattering more than stopping her, like keeping their humanity. The question right now was whether Oscar already knew about her or if he had _yet_ to know about her. His words would imply he did, however it wasn’t wise to assume another’s knowledge without the grounds to substantiate it. Depending on the case, Ozpin would have to adjust how he dealt with Oscar.

The boy looked up at him, face freezing for only a moment before it was replaced with a polite, cagey smile. Clearly, Ozpin’s presence hadn’t been expected.

“Sorry, O—Professor Ozpin, curfews are new to me,” he says, hands clasped neatly between his knees.

Ozpin would wager that was true, too. Living on a farm and doing fieldwork one was kept to a schedule, although that was on his own time, but Oscar had also never been to school before, so he imagined that some rules and expectations were ones that might feel completely alien to him. He would probably need more time than others to acclimate to the school setting.

“You’ll get used to them in time, I’m certain. I recall that you said you liked to stay up this late reading. You wouldn’t be the first student who has needed time to adjust.”

The boy looked doubtful and his gaze was tugged back to watching the stars. But there was still that pressing matter Ozpin wanted to ask him about.

“Mr. Pine, there is something I’ve been meaning to—”

“Yes,” Oscar interrupts him, voice heavy and somber, eyes still locked on the sky. Ozpin got the impression this continued lack of eye contact was on purpose. Whether this was because Oscar was self-conscious or for some other reason, the headmaster couldn’t quite yet discern. “I’ll confirm what I think you suspect. I know about her.”

He almost raises his eyebrows in surprise but manages to contain himself in time. _Salem._ It had to be. Still, he didn’t have the full answer and he remembered Oscar claiming to learn his fighting style from ‘reading a lot of books.’ Oscar wasn’t incapable of misdirection or concealing the truth.

He needed more information.

Ozpin sits down next to the boy on the steps, resting his hands atop the pommel of the Long Memory. There’s a gentle breeze this night, softly rustling the trees that circled the courtyard. 

“Is that the reason why you decided to come here? Now?”

Oscar watches him from the corner of his eye with a cautious air and guarded expression. He gave a defeated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he felt cornered.

“One of them,” he admits, voice short and clipped.

“And the others?”

Oscar is quiet for a long time staring at the steps beneath his feet. Ozpin knew he’d heard him, because the hands the boy had clasped together grew tight. Moments pass before he allows his shoulders to relax and his grip to loosen up. The boy lets out another sigh as if doubly resigned and then finally turns to face him, green-gold eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Because in the near-future, _you_ _die_.”

…

Well that is certainly a provocative string of words to put together in one sentence.

Ozpin’s expression remains neutral.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take you at your word. You’re claiming to have seen the future?”

The boy pauses, as if he really had to think about it.

“…It’s not pleasant,” he hedges. 

His response didn’t precisely confirm his inquiry, but as much as Ozpin has been able to look into him, besides being a private person, the boy didn’t seem to be a _furtive_ one. Was Oscar clairvoyant? He hadn’t listed a Semblance on his application, but if he _could_ see the future then the headmaster could understand why he might not want to advertise that little fact.

(He briefly wonders if their connection through dreams had anything to do with it, but quickly moves on to more exigent thoughts.)

However, none of that meant he _wasn’t_ lying. Even though Ozpin couldn’t divine whatever reasons he might have to do so didn’t mean he didn’t have one.

So he has to ask…

“If you’ve seen it, then how do I—?”

“That, I’m not sure I can tell you yet… or _should_ ,” he speaks with a tone of grave deliberation, words coming slowly, but each one considered and thoughtfully chosen. His voice becomes soft, but certain, and level, sounding more like the Oscar he’d been in his dreams than the socially anxious one he’s observed throughout the day. He continues.

“Here is my dilemma as I see it…” he flaps a hand as if to illustrate his uncertainty, “I don’t like lying. I don’t like keeping secrets. It’s hurtful. But if I _tell_ you, it might change the future dramatically and I won’t be able to predict where we go from here in order to prevent _more_ terrible things. And believe me, there are _more._ If I _don’_ t tell you and you die, then working so hard to get here was pointless. If I tell you things only as you need to know them, it feels really scummy and manipulative a-and what I want is your trust.”

Ozpin watches Oscar thoughtfully, leaning ever so slightly forward to rest his chin atop his steepled fingers below which was his cane, taking careful note of his expression and body language.

According to Oscar, his death came with a due date and, although he hadn’t directly said it, the boy had come here to save him despite any consequences. If true, then Oscar possessed all the qualities he looked for in Huntsmen: promise, tenacity, and a desire to protect others. What he said about his personal struggle, to tell him or not, or to tell him but only at certain times, felt real. Not only that, he felt he could empathize. It was similar to his own situation after all, although, he had long ago decided that it was better not to trust any one person with everything.

He couldn’t risk betrayal.

Ozpin opens his mouth to inquire further, but the boy beats him to it once again.

“—But to be honest, I’m not sure _you_ can be trusted yet.”

_Pardon?_

It was abrupt and Oscar’s voice had turned a little more agitated, a hard, newfound edge to it with touches of frustration and bitterness bleeding through despite the obvious effort to sound candid and noncombative. He was not a boy who was used to concealing his feelings, let alone lying, apparently. As was made more apparent by his literal laying out of his feelings about openly keeping a secret from him just now. (If true.)

“May… I ask for what reason?”

Oscar visibly squirms. He was becoming rapidly uncomfortable and upset in a way that Ozpin thought might be hard to fake. The boy looks away.

And then, when he didn’t respond, Ozpin pressed, “Mr. Pine…?”

The boy closes his eyes for a second before standing up, hands shaking by his side. He’s staring at his feet and moves as if to leave.

A frustrated sigh.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Without understanding why, he reaches out to Oscar, a sense of a sense of crackling apprehension settling into his chest. Ozpin catches the boy’s wrist just in time.

“Oscar!”

Their eyes meet.

Ozpin catches fleeting expressions of fear, sadness, anger. Anger is the emotion he settles on and is the thing that jerks the boy’s hand away from Ozpin’s like he was on fire.

“Because you _left_ us when we needed you! You left _me!”_

With a pained expression and immediate, heavy regret, Oscar seems to realize what he said, face flushing red. For someone who’d just reacted in anger, he very quickly apologizes, excuses himself, and then dashes away leaving Ozpin reeling. _Oh._ Oh dear. Ozpin spirals wondering if he’d misjudged the situation because instead of war and Salem it sounded an awful lot like…

…Like a child being unable to contain finding disappointment in their parent, an outburst against dereliction of duty…

In a flash of horror, he frantically reviews instances of past sexual relationships he’s had in this life. Oh no, oh dear…

 _“I know about her.”_ Had he meant Salem o-or… ? He came here because he knew about “her” but also because he thought, or Seen, that Ozpin was going to die. And what might motivate someone young to rescue someone they’d only seen in a vision, or a dream and didn’t know, unless they knew that person _was their_ …

He remembered James saying, in his dream, _“We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I wish I could ask Ozpin what he thought of all this.”_ If that was accurate, if for whatever inexplicable reason he was seeing snapshots of Oscar’s future, then he _had_ died and…

…And Oscar, maybe…

It was rare for Ozpin to lower his head, but he felt this warranted it. Had he…? Without knowing it…?

_With whom…?_

Oscar Pine: clairvoyant, future Oz…

…Or long lost son?

Perhaps, however unimaginable and singularly unique, all _three_.

Pyrrha couldn’t sleep in the ballroom with all the noise of the other students. She felt restless so she went for a walk hoping to relax. She had a lot to live up to. Her parents had been disappointed she chose Beacon over Haven, but wholeheartedly supported her nonetheless, so she had to do her best. She’d been the top student in her class and had been showered with so many accomplishments and accolades that it was going to be hard trying not to let everyone she loved down.

But she worked hard because she wanted to be a Huntress, because there was nothing more she wanted to be, because it was worth it to help those around her, even if there was only the smallest chance.

While she was just nearing the front courtyard, she caught the tail end of a nighttime melodrama, although she saw she wasn’t the only one. The Headmistress, Glynda Goodwitch was keeping an eye over the unfolding events as well. 

_“Because you left us when we needed you! Because you left me!”_

She knew that voice, as she crept through the shadows, suddenly conscious of being spotted, Pyrrha saw Oscar rush back through the halls, scrubbing his face with his sleeve. Peeking out into the courtyard, she saw Professor Ozpin himself as if in shock. Once Oscar ran off, Glynda stepped outside, sitting down next to the Professor.

 _Ohhh._ Well, that explained why a kid as young as Oscar had been admitted so early and why he’d looked lonely and anxious on the airship. He was the estranged Headmaster’s son. Anyone would have a lot of complicated feelings coming here because of that and she could certainly understand why Oscar seemed so nervous to talk about himself. He probably didn’t want people to know who he really was.

Out of everyone, Pyrrha thought she might be the best to understand what it was like to be self-conscious of the thoughts of others due to status, or position, or what people thought you’d earned or deserved—or what they thought you _didn’t_ deserve due to certain factors.

When she felt it was safe to do so without being noticed, her back to the quiet murmuring of Ozpin and Glynda, she left the shadows and crept back to her sleeping bag.

She made a silent promise to herself to watch over Oscar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar: how do you lie without lying? Maybe you tell the truth, but very vaguely? And then accidentally get upset.
> 
> Ozpin, throwing his hands dramatically out before him: I… have been a tErRiBlE FATHER. My long lost son is mAD at mE.
> 
> Oscar: No, wait, hang on a minute, I think there’s been a misunderstanding…
> 
> Anyway, we get more Ruby soon… coming to a theater near you… and hopefully… finally… Oscar interacting with the main teams.


	8. Landing Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever wonder what happened to those friends of Yang’s that she ditched Ruby for and then we never saw again? Yeah, me too.
> 
> Every chapter I think I’m going to get further into volume 1 than I actually do, ha ha. Every chapter I get midway through thinking ‘this one’s going to be a shorter chapter than normal’ and it never turns out to be true. And every chapter I also think, “This is the one where Oscar finally establishes real contact with RWBY and JNPR and every time I am wrong.

Yang was upset. She was upset because in the time she left Ruby yesterday and made her way to the auditorium with her friends, she’d had a big fight with all of them (well, one in particular, who she refused to have the decency to name right now, even if it would be in her own head). So, she was now on the verge of having a falling out with her entire friend group because of one little _stupid_ thing _one_ person said in addition to starting a new school year in an entirely different school they all worked so hard to get into.

She decided not to tell Ruby about it because her sister was having a hard enough time trying to adjust to a new school environment let alone being advanced two years without having to worry about her older sister’s problems.

Consequentially, she decided to stick with Ruby for the rest of the day, from saving a spot to her in the crowd before Professor Ozpin’s address to trying to help her make new friends like with that Blake girl with the cute bow and pajamas. (And, here Yang rolls her eyes as she thinks, attempting to fend off Princess Schnee.) Ruby could be so introverted sometimes and while Yang understood having internal struggles she, like Dad, thought Ruby could use some experience getting to know other people. Which she would never _get_ if she always kept to herself or with Yang.

Ruby didn’t want people to think she was special, but she _was_ special. That wasn’t just big sister pride gushing over her baby sister. Ruby was talented and smart underneath all that other stuff people couldn't see past. Other people would find that out for themselves too, eventually. She hopes.

“You seem awfully chipper this morning,” she comments in the locker room as Ruby gets herself ready.

“Yep, no more awkward small talk or getting to know you stuff,” her sister cradles Crescent Rose like a dear loved one, “Today I get to let my sweetheart do the talking.”

_Oh, Ruby…_

From the corner of her eye, Yang sees the boy she’d pointed at yesterday who was friends with Pyrrha Nikos smother a smile. Yes, that’s right mystery boy who smiled at Ruby when she wasn’t looking, her sister was funny and charming. Be delighted and amazed. 

Still, focusing on the problems at hand, Yang tries to remind Ruby about needing to learn to work together with others and forming teams both in school and in the field. Not that Yang was going to form teams with _any_ of her friends from yesterday because they were all b—

“Ugh… you sound like _Dad_. Okay, first of all…”

Eventually Ruby says that maybe she’ll just be on Yang’s team, and Yang guiltily runs her hands through her hair suggesting that maybe she should consider being on her own team. Yang loved her sister, more than anything in the world, but even she could see that sometimes Ruby’s social awkwardness held her back, even in her own friend group back at Signal.

Yang wanted Ruby to grow and learn to be comfortable with other people who weren’t her family, to make closer friends, and feel more at home being herself among others. Yang grew up fast and angry, getting in people’s faces and demanding to be seen more than just sad Xiao Long’s mother-abandoned daughter to the people of Patch. She hadn’t wanted that for Ruby after Summer never came back from her last mission, so she had done all she could to help Ruby stay whole.

Ruby, of course, takes her words the wrong way and it would have grown into a full-blown argument (Yang’s second in so many days) if Jaune hadn’t walked by right then complaining about the placement of his locker and drawing their attention to Pyrrha and Weiss. Jaune interrupts the two, slipping between them, to ~~hit on~~ _ask_ Weiss if she wanted to be on his team.

Eventually, Pyrrha pins Jaune to the wall with her spear shortly before releasing him. He sinks miserably to the floor asking where he went wrong.

“Snow angel,” both she and the boy in green, who’d been walking past hiding another smile, said at the same time.

She continued, “…Probably wasn’t the best start.”

Jaune groans.

Oscar would say he could not _believe_ that Initiation meant being launched off a cliff into the middle of a forest crawling with things that wanted to kill them all, but he was pretty certain every huntsman was halfway in love with death. So, _of course_ that was exactly what they were being tasked to do. As it was, he felt he finally understood why Ruby had no hesitation diving down cannon barrels.

Only a few months ago he would have been in the same circumstances as Past-Present Jaune, who was hemming and hawing over _what exactly_ did Ozpin mean when he said _‘landing strategy?_ ’ Evidently, getting shot off a ledge and falling a couple miles down to earth was a powerful personal motivator to figure out how to stay alive. Do-or-die was Oscar’s constant, eternal teacher.

As that memory resurfaced and Ironwood’s dead-eyed gaze along with it, something went tight and funny in his chest. _Breathe, Oscar_ , he tells himself, looking to the horizon with determination. He reminds himself that he got this far on his own, that he was still here despite _everything_ , and he still had a lot of work to do. He just had to keep going. Don’t think about it.

“No,” Ozpin tells Jaune regarding the landing strategy with a flat, even tone as though his intentions and expectations were obvious. His expression remained neutral and appeared for all the world as aloof and detached as ever. “You will be falling.”

If Ozpin had any feelings about last night, then he didn’t give any indication of it. Just stood there with cane in one hand and a still-somehow-steaming mug in the other, looking at them all through the distant, seemingly indifferent gaze of lofty instructor.

Feeling painfully ashamed, Oscar couldn’t quite bring himself to look directly at Ozpin, or at least not for long. Frankly, he was _still_ reeling over seeing Ozpin in person. That silver hair, the way his hand gripped his cane, the way he spoke—voice attached to a real person. It was still a little too much.

…He shouldn’t have lost his temper last night and said those words. _This_ Ozpin wasn’t the same Ozpin he’d known. At least, not yet? This Ozpin hadn’t urged him to leave home, hadn’t taken over his body without consent in the fight against Hazel and pushed him far past his limits, hadn’t abandoned them in the snow…

This Ozpin wouldn’t have understood what he was talking about or why he was angry, wouldn’t understand what his accusation of ‘leaving them’ meant… Oscar couldn’t blame him for things he hadn’t done yet…

 _This_ Ozpin wasn’t the one that had come back after he’d gotten shot, only to disappear again shortly after, no guidance, no subconscious nudges, nothing. A-And even though Oscar _knew_ it wasn’t his fault for leaving _this_ time, probably, he couldn’t stop feeling so… messed up inside.

But he _was_ the same Ozpin who lied. Who was _still_ lying.

“Wow, I see. So like, did you hand out parachutes for us?”

“No, you will be using your own landing strategy.” 

Soon enough, Yang is winking at Ruby, coolly sliding a pair of sunglasses over her eyes before she is blasted off into the sky like she belonged there.

_Yang is too cool._

“Don’t worry,” Oscar interrupts, glancing briefly at Jaune and feeling somewhat annoyed at Ozpin, but finding it was easier to ignore him than acknowledge him. He didn’t want to make eye contact. He offers the blonde what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine.”

He’d be fine because he’d been fine before, hadn’t he?

Truth be told, Oscar was also annoyed at _this_ Ozpin more than just for riling up Jaune’s obvious fears. He was annoyed that their “mission” involved retrieving “relics” from a temple ruin and how that felt like such a parody of his own life-and-death experiences. He was annoyed that it felt childish and like Ozpin was flaunting hidden knowledge even if he knew, on some level, that maybe this was his way of preparing unsuspecting future hunters for the eventual war against Salem—priming them with the basic concepts of a hidden war he would never tell the truth of before recruiting them.

Ozpin was a _teacher,_ he did… teacherly things. Right?

_A flash of green in his memory, the vault, Pyrrha in the machine, Ozpin’s unfathomable desperation._

And…Oscar changes tracks almost guiltily, the boy knew he _did_ care about his students even if he didn’t show it.

It was just… _frustrating_.

“See, you say that, but—” Jaune starts.

Oscar didn’t hear the rest of what Jaune had to say because he was soon flying through the air like the others before him.

The old Oscar, pre-Ozpin, pre-ancient-destiny-with-the-fate-of-all-mankind Oscar would have been terrified. The Oscar he was now was just relieved to be falling a shorter distance this time. 

Oscar had the unfair advantage of knowing exactly where to go. Thank you forbidden Ozpin knowledge. So when he lands in the forest, he books it. He didn’t want to fight any more Grimm than he had to and he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted or bogged down by ancient memories as he went. He couldn’t even afford to keep being annoyed at Ozpin at this moment. He had to stay aware to stay alive.

Which was… not that different from normal. He wouldn’t say he was becoming desensitized to combat and fighting for his life, but that he had learned how to push past his fears and face them instead. He accepted that there was always going to be a part of Oscar that was afraid and wanted to give up, but he didn’t have to listen to it.

At some point along the way, he heard a tree fall in the forest. He hears gunfire and shouting. He presses on through the forest until he reaches a clearing and he is compelled to _stop_.

A girl, faunus, fighting three Ursa with her back to him.

Their eyes meet when he moves in to strike at the Ursa he thought was her biggest threat, the one going for her exposed flank.

Oh.

_“That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years.”_

He’d forgotten about teammates. The whole concept of having teammates that weren’t RWBY or JNPR felt so alien to him. The concept of a world before the fall of Beacon was alien to him now that he was finally here.

In a split-second identity crisis that had nothing to do with Ozpin for once, he wondered who he even was without Ruby, or Jaune, or Weiss or Nora or—?

—Who was he when he was alone? Was he brave? Was he strong? Was he _enough?_

The girl jumps and swings her weapon, whose combat form was currently a baseball bat, slamming it against the Grimm’s head. Oscar concentrates. He reminds himself doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Still darting forward, he unclips his weapon from his belt at the same time, extends it, and drives it, hard, into the softest part of the Grimm’s skull right behind where its ear would be. The girl does a midair backflip, short white hair flapping wildly behind her, kicking off from her target’s chest and then goes low, aiming for its legs.

Oscar also manages to twist his body midair, practically rolling over the top of his Ursa’s skull ascending just above its back. His foot comes to rest very briefly on one of the spines protruding from its body, just enough to change his direction and momentum before expertly twirling his weapon so he could get a better two-handed grip.

He aimed a precise, ruthless blow between the bony armored plates but then slipped when the beast began to dissolve beneath him.

He hits the ground in time to see the girl knock over her own Ursa and gets to his feet just as she transforms her weapon into a scimitar and lops off its head in one deft sweep. She looks coldly over her shoulder at him, scowling, as if checking to see if he was still there and their eyes meet again.

A spontaneous image of a cartoon villain blooms in his imagination and in a low, sinister voice says, _“You’re next,”_ before he mentally waved it away. People can be scary and still be good. People can be good and not like him, it was okay. It didn’t make him feel great, but it was okay.

Just so long as _she_ didn’t shoot him off a cliff too.

A rumbling sound, a small thud. The last Ursa had risen to its full height, stretching its arms out at them and howling.

Oscar gets back in gear and sticks to his multi-strike technique, going in to attack its weak points, soft and unarmored—belly, chest, throat. He pushes the beast back. The girl leaps into the air, scimitar transforming once again into a bat, and crushes its skull on her incline.

“Looks like we’re partners,” the girl says somewhat standoffishly as it dissipates. She’s wearing a loose white off-the-shoulder t-shirt, ripped black denim shorts, and a puffy navy blue jacket. It’s not what he would choose for combat gear, but if Ruby, Nora, and Weiss were all going to wear skirts (and heels in Weiss’ case) then he didn’t think it was his place to criticize. Especially when all those people were better warriors than he was.

Oscar spots something on the forest floor.

He picks it up and holds it out to her, his new partner. He hopes, he’s hoping so hard, with all his heart—

She snatches it from his hand, glares at him, then puts the navy blue baseball cap lopsided on her head, fluffy white fox ear clearly visible poking out from it.

He holds in a sigh of relief. Oh, thank goodness he didn’t uncover another hidden faunus and have another person’s secret to keep.Their eyes meet for a third time and what Oscar finds in there is a deep, intense distrust. He’s almost rooted on the spot, corny cartoon villain lines echoing in his head.

“Let’s go,” is all she says and begins to stride off with unbroken purpose, her white hair, an asymmetrical bob, bouncing behind her as she went.

“W-Wait,” Oscar calls out to her, recovering from his temporary petrification and pointing in the opposite direction with both hands. “It’s this way.”

“…How do you know?”

“Just trust me?”

She stares at him disapprovingly for what feels like several minutes.

“Don’t be wrong.”

They start moving.

“…Name’s Rook.”

“O-Oscar.”

“Your—” Glynda starts, then corrects herself. “Oscar has been paired up.”

“Hmm…”

Ozpin switches from looking at footage of Ruby to looking at footage of Oscar and back again.

Glynda knew he didn’t want to talk about it…

“His words were very ambiguous, sir. You can’t assume—”

She sighs.

“I’m sure… you’ve always been…” she purses her lips and pauses, “… _careful_.”

Glynda wouldn’t know, personally. The headmaster kept his personal life very private. If he even _had_ a personal life beyond running the schools and managing a war against an unimaginable force of pure destruction. She saw him as a very cautious, guarded man. She couldn’t imagine him _even…_ and especially not _without…_

The headmaster brushes her concerns to the side, changing the topic, a clear sign he didn’t want to talk about it. Which is fine because she didn’t want to either. Or, truth be told, think about it.

“If what he says about my coming death is true, then it means Salem will make her move soon.”

“You’re certain he’s seen your future?”

“He seems certain of it,” Ozpin tells her mildly, still focused on the footage. “You were listening. That kind of conviction is hard to fake.”

“Of course he sounded certain. He even admitted he was after your trust.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before the headmaster responds.

“…Someone who wanted to manipulate me into trusting them wouldn’t turn around and repudiate me in the next breath. He doesn’t exactly strike me as a master manipulator. Furthermore, if he can’t even hold eye contact with me the day after, I hardly think he’s an agent of Salem.”

“…He does seem bad at lying,” Glynda murmurs, hand on her hip.

He also seemed good-hearted with the way he tried to reassure Mr. Arc earlier, even if Arc seemed wholly unprepared for this academy. Watching over him and Ozpin last night, he did seem steadfast in his convictions and it was true… with the way he was acting today, barely being able to look at the professor, he really was acting a lot like…

Well, a lot like how a long lost son who was upset with their long lost absentee father might act. Equal parts irritation (the look on his face while Ozpin described the task in the Emerald Forest), admiration (the way he looked at him when the professor wasn’t looking, in awe and disbelief), and longing for connection (both pushing the professor away and trying to close the distance at the same time).

Even if it weren’t for his behavior, Ozpin’s own reaction was… persuasive in its own right. He was convinced. The look of complex horror on his face coming to his realization that he might have abandoned a son he never knew about when she went to him on the steps that night was genuine. For him to weigh that possibility so heavily… there must be some dots Ozpin could connect in his past that she couldn’t.

Hence: unbeknown trysts in a personal life she didn’t feel comfortable knowing the details of or asking about.

Glynda felt they should ask Oscar directly to clear up any potential misunderstandings, but Ozpin, as always, wanted to take the wait-and-see approach.

…It was also likely he needed time to take it all in.

...If true.

She watches footage of Oscar’s fight with the Ursa with skills that even seemed to be an unrefined version of the Headmaster’s. Learned how to fight from books, her a—

“Miss Rose seems like she would make a capable leader,” the headmaster comments, breaking the small silence between them. 

“She’s far too reckless.”

“True, but her heart is in the right place. Tempered with time and experience, I’m sure she’ll become an indispensable Huntress and leader.”

Glynda held back a sigh she so badly wanted to let loose. She lived and worked in an environment where she was busy dealing with stubborn, headstrong teenagers who thought they knew everything about the world and yet somehow the biggest child here was Professor Ozpin. She knew now, just like she knew the moment they’d shared glances in the room they’d questioned Ruby in, that Ozpin would refuse to budge on the matter. Stubborn. Obstinate.

…Idealistic.

They continue to observe the students’ progress.

The two new partners manage to find the temple with no issues. Oscar holds back a noise of irritation when they find the “relics.” Chess pieces. Could this be any more painfully on point? He wanted to put his head in his hands and start screaming. He hated every minute of this farce.

“What is this…?” Rook asks, picking up a chess piece that was in an unusual shape unlike the rest of the pieces.

“Oh,” Oscar starts, genuinely surprised, “it’s a fairy piece.” 

“…The hell?”

“Um… like a chess variant, I guess? Sometimes people make up their own rules or make problems to solve with chess pieces that move differently than standard ones.”

“…Why do you know this? You play?”

“No, not really. I just read a lot of books.”

It was true this time. Oscar had never owned a chess set, or even played, but he did know the rules and sure did read that trashy romance novel his aunt had hidden where all the characters were extremely handsome representations of pieces on a chess board in a time of war (fairy pieces included, naturally) all after the protagonist’s hand in marriage.

There were honestly a lot of parts in the book he didn’t understand at the time. And a lot of parts he regretted reading when everything finally clicked.

For what it was worth, he spent some time reading whatever he could find about fairy pieces after that because he thought they were interesting and completely forgot about the book. Shortly after that, his attention shifted onto checkers, a game for which they did have a board and played during winter.

“What’s this one called?”

“Um… I think it’s a ‘grasshopper.’ Or a queen-hopper? I’m not, uh, an expert. It moves along the same lines as queen and lands on the square immediately beyond.”

“Huh,” Rook considers the grasshopper in her hand with interest and then pockets it. “Cool. Let’s take it.”

Oscar shrugs.

“That’s fine with me.” _As if_ he’d suggest taking the rook and make this parodic stage feel even more satirical. “Let’s get to the cliff.”

They arrived at the cliffs in time to see Ruby reverse-guillotine a Nevermore, its dissolving carcass plunging earthward, rose petals on the breeze. Oscar was awed. The signs of battle were unmistakable. Pillars pockmarked and riddled with bullet holes, broken stone supports and a fractured bridge (luckily only one of many.) Teams RWBY and JNPR, from where he could see them, looking tired and spent—Ren even collapsing on the ground in exhaustion himself.

“Are you… okay?” Rook suddenly asks, too cool and disaffected to sound concerned, but also suspiciously uneasy.

Looking at the bullet holes, he starts, “Why wouldn’t I b—?”

But then it soon became apparent why he wouldn’t be when he finds his hands clutching his ringing head, knees falling to the ground, heartrate spiking, breathing shallow.

He… _remembered_.

Not an Ozpin memory, not Ozma. An _Oscar_ memory…

…Of Mantle in ruins. _No, not yet_. Of Mantle in _pandemonium._

_Boots in snow, ash rising like morning vapor, Salem on the horizon. Imminent. The sound of Grimm, panic, screaming., the all-eclipsing acrid taste of blood and smoke thick in the air. A tight, hot, tangled feeling in his chest he couldn’t at first identify. It wasn’t the stark, choking fear he was used to, it wasn’t even a paralyzing uncertainty._

_It wasn’t until he’d come across the body in the snow that he’d finally understood._

_Simmering anger. Sorrow. Loss._

_He watched Atlas in the sky. The city wasn’t any higher than it had been since he first fell and found his way to Mantle and hopefully it never would. James wasn’t thinking straight. Raising Atlas would not only abandon everyone in Mantle and destroy their hope to reunite the world, it would engage a war of attrition where he would ultimately lose. Atlas in the sky, above Salem and the Grimm, destroying the morale of the rest of the kingdoms, priming them to be taken one after another. After that, it would be easy to put Atlas under siege and wait until General Ironwood and his forces had long lost the sanctity of their will and spirit, assuming martial law and paranoia didn’t instigate riots and insurrection._

_“No, I know,” he cocks his head to the side as if listening intently to a voice no one else could hear, “for whatever reason he hasn’t raised Atlas yet. We’ll make our way back up and confront him again if we have to, but you’re right. Now isn’t the time to focus on James. This is just…”_

_He makes a frustrated hand gesture._

_“…No. I mean… it’s just… sad. I’ve never seen…”_

_…War. The reek of bones and fire; shattered glass underfoot, the charred, burnt-out skeleton of a struggling city all around him, the slow undeniable swell of dread creeping its way towards them all. A broken bridge, exposed walls ravaged with bullet holes… dead bodies, lost and lonely. Experience that wasn’t his tells him that Salem would wait to attack, allowing fear and desperation to grow to a fever pitch before she rolled in after the Grimm like thunder. Inevitable and ruthless._

_It was nothing like walking into the city for the first time, his eyes trying to take in everything all at once it had been a miracle he hadn’t tripped over his own feet. Neon lights, airships passing overhead, steam rising from the heating rid, and a feeling of having both walked these streets before as it was built and also seeing it as a stranger with new eyes._

_Oscar checks his Scroll, still having a one-sided conversation._

_“Stop apologizing. Who he chose to be and what he chose to do was out of your control. Mine too. He’s…” flashes of resignation, pity, acceptance, “…scared.”_

_A surge of empathy. Compassion. Resolve._

_The last transmission he’d received was an updated notice of the outstanding order to detain him and the others on sight. Only his picture had a big X on it and Qrow was listed under Detained. Nothing but bad news._

_More silent words. Oscar uncomfortably shifted his balance from one foot to the other._

_“You’re right. But you came back and that’s what I’ve decided matters.”_

_He dropped the Scroll back into his pocket._

_“When comms are back we’ll contact Ruby and the oth—no, I don’t want you t—yeah, I know. We’re a dead person on a wanted list, I’ll be careful.” A sigh. “Auntie Em is going to be so disappointed in me… ‘Oscar Pine, wanted fugitive…’”_

_But was hard to feel worried about that when surrounded by so much devastating loss. He felt so small and human standing on that street on the outskirts of the city, the bleeding arteries of Mantle, ruin and Grimm all around him._

_He tilts his head again, listening, then gives a small, resigned shrug._

_He breathed, “…’Til the bitter end, right?”_

_The sound of gunfire, fallen Grimm. Footsteps._

_A soldier._

_“Hey, aren’t you—?”_

_“Time to go,” Oscar murmurs to himself tersely and runs deeper into the latticework of mayhem that was now Mantle. The inner city would be better protected, more intact. Humanity and faunus-kind were more resilient than people thought. They had to be. Mantle wouldn’t fall. They had to unite—_

“—Careful,” a voice said, bringing him back to the present. Past-present. “I’ve got you.” 

Rook had caught him in her arms. Apparently, she wasn’t too cool to let him crack his skull open on their first day together. He’d only been… out… for a few seconds, but it felt like it’d been hours. Had that really happened? He had thought his journey into the past started after he’d fallen from Atlas, but now it seemed he’d gotten further than that?

“Sorry,” he says weakly, then adds, “…felt dizzy.”

Rook steadied him on his feet and was kind enough to keep her hands on his shoulders until she was certain he wasn’t about to collapse again. She looked skeptical, glancing away to avoid eye contact.

“Yeah… sure…”

He wasn’t making a very good first impression on his would-be teammate. He wasn’t making a very good first impression on anyone. Pyrrha and his “migraine”, Ozpin and losing his temper, now Rook and…

“Oh hey!” a voice calls out to them from the ruined bridge over the ravine, “so you guys made it here, too?”

It’s Nora. She’s waving energetically from her place with team JNPR near the bridge.

Ah… his heart hurt.

Ruby stands up on stage entirely shocked, overjoyed, _overwhelmed_ , delighted. She… _She_ was going to be the _leader?_ Just like _mom?_ When they'd been called to the stage together, she expected Yang… or maybe Weiss… Fifteen years old, Beacon student, _and_ team leader? Ohh, she was going to have so much to live up to. She couldn’t wait to tell Dad, Uncle Qrow… Zwei! She was going to be the best team leader _ever!_ She’d make sure of it.

Before she could even react, Yang rushes over and envelops her in a tight hug, radiating pride and joy, all smiles, as if Ruby’s accomplishment were her own.

“I’m so proud of you!”

The crowd is shouting and clapping around her, she doesn’t even know what to do or say. Her eyes keep flicking back and forth from Yang, to the crowd, to Blake and Weiss behind Yang’s golden hair. To Professor Ozpin himself, with that little mysterious smile of his.

She was on her way to becoming a full-fledged huntress! She wanted to make her family proud, she wanted to tell mom the good news once she could visit her gravestone again in person, she wanted to be a good team leader. She and Weiss were partners! Yang was on Ruby’s team!

The day had started rough, but this might _actually_ be the best day ever!

They’re soon ushered off stage and more teams are announced after that.

“Oh!” Yang elbows Ruby, pointing and waving, “It’s Bee’s Knees! Tiny! You know?”

“Yaaang, _stop pointing!”_

Thank goodness they were going to learn that boy’s name soon once he and his new teammates got onto stage. Yang couldn’t keep calling him _that._ (Although, sighing internally, knowing her sister, Ruby thinks she probably will…)

And the team he was on was soon announced as…

…

[This chapter took longer to do mostly because I was slacking off and [making fanart of Blake](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/614971478128082944/i-miss-blakes-all-purpose-summertime-to?is_highlighted_post=1) instead. If anyone’s been wondering where my Oscar icon is from, I’m also the one who drew it. It’s part of an unfinished piece.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c 
> 
> *flaps hand* Oh, you all knew I wouldn’t have the heart to break up RWBY and JNPR, didn’t you? 
> 
> In case you didn’t already know what fairy chess pieces are, they’re a real thing and you should read the wiki entry sometime and check out all the chess variant games you can play. Their history makes a pretty interesting read. 
> 
> Next time, classes and more! And Real Interaction between Oscar and RWBY, JNPR. Oh my god this took so long...;; Thank you everyone for being so patient.
> 
> I confess, I’m honestly bewildered by how many people have been interacting with my work/time-travel-rewrite-slice-of-Oscar's-life fic, ha ha. I was so certain in the beginning this was just going to be a piece I was mostly writing for myself for my own satisfaction, but I am so touched by how many of you who have been commenting and giving kudos as each chapter comes out. Thank you so much. I hope you all are keeping well and staying safe.


	9. A Little Guidance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I sure did get distracted by the Final Fantasy 7 remake and then fell down the rabbit hole that is isekai light novels. What about you guys?

_Pale blonde hair, long and gleaming, rustles over equally pale skin. A gauzy white sleeve slips down a slender shoulder, fair, soft skin, his fingers tracing her collarbone as she leans forward, ever closer. Bright, teasing blue eyes. Eyelashes fluttering, a smile, a kiss, a hand on his bare chest, a pang in his heart._

**_NO._ **

Oscar wakes, violently tearing himself out of sleep with a personal, almost primal, visceral rejection of the dream, a thousand lives echoing his refusal pounding in his ears and rising in fervor until every sense of identity he’d ever known was nothing but a crescendo of howling white noise. His stomach twisted, coiling with an almost physical sense of confusion and violation. He felt sick. Gutted. No. Just no. Any other ancient dream but _that_. Pyrrha Nikos, burning to death, living and dying a thousand lives, whatever! Anything but _that_. 

He found his way to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face before eventually turning off the faucet and sinking to the floor, back against the basin cabinet.

Oscar… _understood_ what would have occurred in the dream if he hadn’t woken himself up and maybe other people his age might have been excited about it, but to him it just felt unpleasant and wrong. He knew what would have happened in a way that had less to do with logic or instinct than some other intimate, mystical insight that encapsulated his entire being. Salem—original and uncorrupted by the pool of Darkness—was pretty. No, _beautiful_. He’d think that even if he didn’t have surreal, nebulous access to unrecorded thoughts and feelings of previous incarnations of Oz, the very first included; although it was the latter factor that made things even more uncomfortable and wrong. 

He barely liked rifling around his own head for _Ozpin’s_ knowledge let alone receive dreams from other dead people whose thoughts, feelings, and experiences he—usually without context or direction—understood intensely, profoundly, and to such a degree that threatened to swallow him whole.

Oscar wasn’t ignorant or stupid when it came to adult relationships. It was embarrassing to contemplate, but he’d lived on a _farm_ , they bred _sheep_ , and he was nothing if not practical. He got it. It was a normal part of life for most people. However, he’d read enough of his aunt’s hidden trashy romance novels to be able to form his own opinions and right now he’d like to say no thank you very much, please.

_Especially someone else’s private moments thank you so, **so** very much!_

The door to the bathroom squeaks.

“Are you okay?” Lacey, one of his new team members, asks him and, with dull, almost lifeless obligation, Oscar mentally resets the ‘Number Of Days Someone Has Gone Without Asking If He Was Okay’ counter back to zero. Which… the day prior, was also zero. And zero before that…

He sighs inwardly.

Oscar now shared a dorm room with three other people. Rook Noir, Alexander Regent, and Lacey Iris. Together, they made up team NOIR. Oscar couldn’t be more thrilled he hadn’t been made a team leader. It might also be a sneaky move by Ozpin to keep him out of the spotlight so other people weren’t paying too much attention to him but, honestly, he wasn’t sure he could even shoulder any more responsibility than he already expected himself to carry thrown his way. He didn’t even think he would have deserved to be a team leader if he were a legitimate student and didn’t trick his way in by appealing to Ozpin’s sense of mystery and curiosity.

Rook, for her part, had broken her cool persona for just a few seconds and had seemed openly flabbergasted and elated at the announcement.

So, of course, Oscar took that moment to congratulate her, his hand on her shoulder, for which she scowled at him causing him to feel a stab of fear.

…He was… pretty sure he knew what Rook’s Semblance was, and if he was right, he could understand why she seemed so scary all the time and why she kept to herself.

Regardless, it was Lacey who was looking at him now with big seafoam green eyes. Or at least, looking at him as well as she could. She had some sort of tic that caused her pupils to flick back and forth, focusing on his neck, to his hair, to his hands and so on, like reading an invisible script. He didn’t think it was something caused by anxiety because she’d seemed confident enough—although it really wasn’t his place to make such judgements.

She’d introduced herself to all of them with, “Hello, hello, I’m Lacey Iris,” making finger guns at them all and smiling expectantly, eyes bouncing from face to face, “Yes, from _that_ family and I like to call my Semblance ‘User Interface!’”

Oscar didn’t know what family she was referring to and Lacey did not go on to explain what ‘User Interface’ was.

She was a petite gentle-looking girl, an appearance that belied her oddball personality, with dark wavy hair that curled just under her chin to frame her face. For some reason, at all times, she wore a wire headband that had two points that jutted out like butterfly antennae. Even in her sleep.

“Had a weird dream. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Oh, no,” she was quick to reassure him eyes flickering expectantly from the sink faucet to Oscar’s face, “Not at all…”

The way she trailed off Oscar got the impression that he had. 

She stands there, staring at him as if she wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation or whether or not she should. The air between them was filled with Lacey’s unspoken questions and Oscar’s loud unvented thoughts.

“W-ell, okay,” she confesses somewhat demurely, hands clutched in front of her, “I’m just a little sensitive to noise. Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t wake the guard dog with how you stumbled in here.”

The space between his ears goes blank. 

“The… what…?”

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what she was trying to say but he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt while holding back his first impulses, so he asked for clarification first.

“You know,” Lacey tells him with a little bounce, as if he really _did_ know, and puts a hand on either side of her head, index fingers pointing straight up mimicking fox ears. 

Oscar bit his lip, feeling almost immediately complicated, angry, and offended on Rook’s behalf. It was just the _casual_ way she said it without consideration or reflection that fueled his increasing vexation. And she was looking at him with an expression that expected him to just accept it, like she didn’t’ even consider that, maybe, he _didn’t_ “know.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” he tells Lacey off, speaking more loudly than he intended to, mouth turning into a grim line.

Lacey flinches. She puts up her hands in a placating gesture.

“Oh, _wow_ , sorr~y! Didn’t mean to touch a nerve! I didn’t realize you were also…” she trails off again, eyes ducking down to the wrappings he covered his neck with even in his pajamas before jumping back up to his face. Oscar finds that despite his best efforts, he can’t hold himself back from rolling his eyes and from feeling almost uncharacteristically hot and caustic. He couldn’t imagine _actually_ being a faunus and having to deal with this sort of thing all the time. He had enough trouble just being Oscar Pine (and sometimes Others) let alone having to deal with discriminatory perceptions about who or what he was besides.

“I’m not,” he clarifies in one short breath. He gets to his feet and then tells Lacey shortly, “and I’m about to get dressed.”

“Ohh, sorry, sorry!” she apologizes and Oscar’s not entirely sure she really knows what she said was wrong, but she sounds sincere enough and skedaddles from the bathroom threshold when he moves. True to his word, Oscar grabs his combat gear and changes into it. It was around five in the morning. Besides Lacey, the others were asleep, and class didn’t start until nine, so he didn’t need to be in the uniform until four hours later. He probably could have slept in, but his body wasn’t used to waking up later and he was a little too irritated to try.

There had to be _something_ to do this early in the morning.

Unknown to him, a fluffy white fox ear flicks in the direction of the door after he leaves and finally a dark blue eye thoughtfully opens.

Oscar spends his time on the steps where he’d spoken to Ozpin clutching the necklace Umber gave him and trying to meditate as Ren taught him back in Mistral but kept getting distracted. He wonders if Doctor Ed had been right.

…About trauma…

…And him having it.

…Maybe just a little…

He’d learned more about it after helping capture Rhys. Umber had acted out more, became frustrated more easily, and so on. She actually reminded him of himself when he found himself back home and back in time. She’d healed enough to start acting a lot more like herself but also a lot more confident in later months. Ed had asked him to watch over her and he had.

Kids heal fast, he thought, not thinking of himself in that moment as a kid, too.

He probably did have trauma, but he also thought that not all of it was _his_. Like the dream from before and all the echoing feelings of rejection that had coursed through his soul like electricity, he thought that, probably, each incarnation of Oz had to shoulder all the nightmares and feelings and phantoms of the ones before. _He_ certainly did. Shadows and echoes in his head, static memories fizzing in his blood, a muffled, eclipsed identity over his soul.

Unless maybe he was just that much more sensitive to the thoughts and feelings he didn’t identify as belonging to him swimming around in his head. In which case, he needed to stop overthinking things. Ozpin saying that the merging process was strenuous on all parties involved was a massive understatement. But then, what else was new?

He probably needed to stop overthinking things regardless.

He needed to learn how to let some things go. Maybe they all did, all those lives that lived in his head with their individual traumas. Did a man who was different each time he was born anew really change? Wasn’t that a kind of stagnancy to have your life cut off and never resolve? Did a man like that ever recover? Could a man who could remember a thousand deaths and a thousand lives salvage his psyche?

Oscar remembered dying, fingers reaching out to sparks, flames dancing all around him in an underground vault his feet had never touched. With hands that weren’t his, Oscar remembered driving a sword into a man’s chest and countless others in the burning desert sands of Vacuo that made his own, real, small hands tremble uncontrollably. He remembered kissing Salem and so deeply in love that it left the current him feeling shaky with self-loathing and repulsion.

It _wasn’t_ just his own trauma he was carrying. He was carrying everyone else’s too. Ozpin’s guilt, Ozma’s betrayed love and fury, a warrior king’s righteous spirit, every single effort, success, and failure of each incarnation before. All along with his own.

So he needed to start letting go. Forgive. Move on.

Oscar’s mind tugs on a related string: Ozpin…

Weiss was right, he did need to forgive himself. Each of them made their own choices in the same way Weiss’ father made choices Weiss wouldn’t. Ozma, Ozpin, Oscar. He could be frustrated with Ozpin all he wanted but it didn’t change the responsibility he now bore and the mission he accepted. He was supposed to be the next Oz. He thought he’d accepted this back in Argus, but he’d only been concerned about _time_ back then. He needed to focus on here and now.

He exhales deeply.

When he opens his eyes, he almost jumps right out of his skin. Sitting next to him was a girl who hadn’t been sitting there before and who he hadn’t heard approach or even felt the slightest _presence_ of.

“Ah, sorry,” she apologizes with a shy, short wave and in an accent he can’t yet place, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought…”

The girl had long brown hair, brown eyes, and tall brown rabbit ears atop her head. She was sitting just as he was, legs crossed with her school skirt tucked carefully around her and her hands in her lap looking somewhat serene if not a little troubled beyond that. He couldn’t possibly blame himself for failing to notice her while thinking to himself because the sense of self and presence that she exuded was so minimal as to be a mere shadow in an endless ocean’s waves.

“Is that a camera?” Oscar asks, noticing the girl’s discomfort at continuing her words from before despite the serenity of her posture.

“Oh! Yes! Do you like photography?”

“I don’t really know anything about photography…”

The girl deflates.

He adds, “...but I’m always willing to learn new things”

She brightens.

Before long, the girl—“Velvet” as she introduces herself—is quietly talking to him about the reflection of light, lens differences, and exposure times. She doesn’t dive into the conversation any more than he would himself when meeting someone new and instead responds to careful questions about how her camera even worked, how long she’s been into photography, or why was she interested in taking photos in the first place? He expected her to be an incredibly skilled photographer given the passionate way she talked about it but looking through the photos she’d been eager to show off in spite of her unassertive personality they all looked like mundane, candid shots taken at awkward angles. 

He’s not certain what to think. It wasn’t like he was a professional photographer either.

“Well, I was trying to deflect some unwanted attention,” she tells him when he finally broached the subject of why she sat down by him as they watched the sun rise higher and higher together. Her right ear flicks almost imperceptibly in the direction of a boy and his friend who were huddled together talking to each other. Every so often they glanced their way and sneered. Oscar recognized one of the boys as the one who had come up to ask Pyrrha if she wanted to spend some time with him.

“…You thought sitting next to me might prevent them from bothering you?” Oscar asked. He didn’t see how that tracked. He was just one person, and small, he didn’t understand why pretending to be hanging out with him would make much of a difference.

She must have heard the note of confusion in his voice because she then explained.

“I get up early in the mornings to work on my endurance so I’m usually alone when I’m running laps, and people like that—” her eyes glance over towards the group, voice quiet but deliberate, “will pester people when they’re alone, but won’t if they’re with someone they haven’t sized up yet.”

Spoken like a natural survivalist.

She adds, shoulder leaning to the side, her head tilted along with as she looked at him, “And, no one likes to bother someone in the middle of meditating. Everyone knows that’s when you’re working on your Semblance and no one wants to interfere with that when there could be unexpected consequences. Back in my first year some upperclassmen played a prank on someone wanting to surprise them while they were meditating and… well, it’s a good thing we have Professor Goodwitch here…”

He’s not sure what to comment on. Glynda’s hard life of constantly looking after students and repairing everything in sight or the small catastrophe she implied.

He settled for:

“Oh… I didn’t know that.”

The taller of the two boys catches Oscar looking their way and signals for his friend to follow him as he turns to leave.

“But why were they—?”

The girl sheepishly uses a hand to flatten the length of one of her ears, fingers trailing over it thoughtfully. She wasn’t going to say, but by now Oscar had been around enough faunus to hazard a likely conclusion.

“Oh. That must get annoying. How do you know I wasn’t going to try the same thing?”

“I didn’t, but… well, first of all, you looked really into your mediation and second, well… here, stand up for a second…”

Oscar obliges and very quickly sees the girl’s point.

“I feel like I’m being bullied,” Oscar murmurs.

The girl was taller than him. Her ears far out of reach for Oscar to even contemplate tugging on even if he were the kind of person to touch someone else like that without their explicit permission.

The girl gives a somewhat reserved laugh, but a good-natured one.

Oscar spent the morning keeping Velvet company and doing endurance training, which really just involved a lot of cardio, until her teammates came to fetch her. He then returns to the dorm to shower and change. 

Wow! Oscar was having so many new experiences and learning so many new things today, like the fact he hated wearing a uniform! It felt so! Restricting! A collared shirt? A vest? A blazer? A _tie?_ Who needed these things to learn and fight? Not to mention he felt a lot like he was playing pretend. He wasn’t _important_ and these clothes made him feel like he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. Fancy. He wasn’t fancy. Despite looking entirely out of place, he’d felt more comfortable at the Schnee party in his combat gear even though he wasn’t a real huntsman-in-training than he felt wearing a uniform at Beacon where he didn’t feel like a real student.

He didn’t even know how to tie a tie!

“I can help you with that,” his other new teammate, Alexander, offered as they were getting ready for class and Oscar struggled hatefully with his tie. Alexander’s voice was a little stiff, but not unkind. Those two descriptors, “stiff” and “not unkind” seemed to incorporate Alexander’s entire personality. He stood ramrod straight at all times, carried his head high, and acted like he expected to be a de facto second-in-command.

“Don’t bother,” Oscar murmured, ditching the tie by tossing it on his bed. He didn’t want a piece of cloth hugging so tightly around his neck _anyway._ He was fine with the bandages already there.

In the end, he ditched the tie, left the buttons of the blazer undone, and ditched the vest too.

Later in his first class, he spots Rook wearing his tie around her neck instead of the standard ribbon. She shrugs at him from across the room, noting his curious expression. Oscar thought this was fair all things considered and returns her shrug with his own. Their silent deal was made.

Oscar wasn’t entirely sure what to think of his new teammates.

Out of all of them, and as weird as it was to say with such scant interaction, he felt he got along the best with Rook. Maybe because they’d gotten the “relic” together or because when they’d gotten to the cliffs Rook caught him as he fell despite being too obviously cool to do so. Maybe it was because he knew so little about her and he was projecting. He’s not sure.

Lacey was… probably… okay? He shouldn’t have gotten short with her this morning and she didn’t seem to treat Rook any differently from what he could see, but her comments made him a little wary. It wasn’t his job to protect Rook, and the girl could probably do that better than he could on her own, but there was a part of him that saw Umber’s tears and frustration in the back of his mind whenever he thought of Lacey’s comment from the morning.

Lacey also made him uncomfortable for other reasons. She saw things and made connections she simply _shouldn’t_ be able to make. Some were obvious things that anyone could figure out, (“Oh, you worked on a farm,” she commented when Oscar had stripped off his gloves for the night and the stark contrast between his tanned and his untouched skin stood out.) Others… weren’t. (“What’s the deal between you and Professor Ozpin?” she asked when he returned to the room. When asked to explain she hedged, looking at him with expectant, sparkling eyes, “It’s just, _you know_ …?”)

It made him uneasy.

Alexander came from a rich family. That much was obvious. From his platinum cuff links to his beautifully crafted everyday clothes tailored to fit him perfectly and his elegant combat gear. He primarily stuck to talking to Lacey, most likely because they were partners, but he didn’t seem… haughty… like Past-Weiss was. Just… really stiff. Lacey will babble nonstop while Alexander will just nod and make noises of agreement as she went on unless they broached something he knew about, then he would speak comfortably and with certainty.

Their dynamic reminded him a little of Ren and Nora, although he didn’t think they had feelings for…

…Oh no.

Ren! Nora!

They were… together, weren’t they? He was pretty sure they were despite both of them being evasive when it came to Jaune’s sly nudges and Yang’s knowing smile, but were they together-together here? Right now? At Beacon? What if they weren’t? What if he said or did something that caused one of them to find out prematurely? What had happened between them? How had it happened? What if he had to keep more secrets?

Oh, please, please, please already be together.

_…Oh no…_

What about Blake and Y—?

Oscar had never been to school before. Sure, he’d been homeschooled and he was pretty good at reading and math, but he’s never written an essay before. He didn’t know how to write a persuasive paper let alone _source_ his materials. He could easily handle the reading assignments Dr. Oobleck gave but he’s not sure he could handle all the paperwork that was piling up as the day dragged on further and he scanned syllabus after syllabus for what was to come.

Why had he thought this was a good idea? Maybe he could have just laid it all out on the line in his first interview with Ozpin and let him decide what to do. But if he did that, he’s not even sure he could _trust_ Ozpin with the information, and he thought Ruby and the others—even Ironwood, Glynda, and Qrow deserved to hear the truth from the headmaster himself. In order to achieve that though he needed enough time to convince Ozpin.

And one conversation over Scroll on a line Oscar couldn’t be sure was secure wasn’t enough time to earn him what he needed from a man as guarded as Ozpin: trust. Which would be the most difficult task he might be burdened with, saving the world aside. How did you get a man who trusted no one but himself to trust _you?_

…

This wasn’t what he had been expecting. He had a hard time seeing things in the long term and making plans to defeat Salem’s plans. It was a lot easier to react to what was going on instead of pushing your own agenda. It was a lot easier when you had Jaune, Ruby, their teams, and Qrow on your side to consult, share knowledge, and make decisions together.

Was this what it was like for every reincarnation? Having to anticipate Salem’s next moves? Did he try to divine her ambitions and plans? How did he make concrete decisions in a protracted war where his—no— _their_ life could be interrupted and they may never see the fruits of their plans in that lifetime? How did anyone _live_ like this? 

The only thing he could conclude was that his goals fell in line with all the ones who came before him: defeat Salem, unite humanity. Whether that was the influence of sharing a soul, he didn’t know, but he thought that given the circumstances it was an ambition even pre-Fall Oscar would have committed to. Like-minded souls, right?

All he knew was that he needed to do whatever it took, without sacrificing his own humanity nor the lives and humanity of others.

Even as he struggled with these thoughts, class went on. Disregarding personal distractions, he also had trouble taking down notes in time, condensing key concepts and summarizing material, before an instructor moved onto another element in the lesson. When he’d been studying on his own to his aunt’s satisfaction, he had all the time he needed to really drill in information and ask questions, but here he felt entirely lost, left behind and like he stood out too much to ask instructors to slow down a bit. Beacon ran on an accelerated curriculum. Every student here was here because of their own merit.

Everyone except Oscar, who could read fast but who wrote very, very slow and, in this environment, was easily distracted by phantom memories of what was to come and who wasn’t familiar with the expectations that came with going to an educational institution. He couldn’t help but feel like he was taking up space. 

Dr. Oobleck’s class was especially terrifying to try to keep up with. Maybe if he learned to like coffee he could catch up to everyone else…

It seemed to work for Dr. Oobleck.

Glynda Goodwitch stops Oscar during the middle of the day to scold him about improper dress code. He _had_ to wear the vest and he had to wear a tie. As Glynda was building steam and Oscar was about to give in under pressure, Rook wordlessly came over to them, grasped Oscar’s hand with both of her own, and then just as silently pulled away, leaving the girl’s ribbon from _her_ uniform in his hands. Both Oscar and Glynda stare at the ribbon for a moment before the boy shrugged to himself. Then he ties the ribbon loosely around his neck and looked back up at the blonde woman expectantly, feeling a little giddy and daring.

It was technically a tie, wasn’t it? 

Glynda looked like she couldn’t quite figure out what to say, her hand propped on her hip, her mouth open but with no words coming out, so she simply smothered a sound he thought might have been frustration instead. She rallied enough to tell him he needed to wear the vest from tomorrow’s classes onwards and then proceeded onto her class lecture without missing any further beats

“Monsters, _demons_ , prowlers of the night…”

Oscar found Professor Port’s class as distracting as all the others. Ruby was drawing in her notebook, Weiss was trying to hold back her temper, Yang was snickering over her sister’s antics, Oscar continued to find his _own_ circumstances distracting. He had traveled back in _time_ and was attending the school the voice in his head oversaw with teammates and dead people from the future.

Oscar refocuses, glancing surreptitiously at his tie secured neatly around Rook’s neck from where she sat next to him. An unfamiliar article on an unfamiliar person in an overwhelmingly and bizarrely familiar world. He could feel almost soothed.

Rook caught him looking at her and gave him a crooked smile, which sent a jolt of fear down his spine, but he quickly squashed the feeling and returned her smile with a wobbly one of his own before he turned his attention back to class.

It seemed Professor Port was going to have Weiss fight a Boarbatusk.

Class eventually concluded and Oscar held himself back to jot down the pages for the assigned reading after which he spent some time inspecting the Grimm profiles Professor Port kept pinned to the walls, which is why he ended up overhearing Weiss and Ruby’s confrontation outside the classroom and then, consequentially, the conversation that occurred between Ruby and Ozpin afterwards.

“Hmm, now that didn’t seem to go very well,” Ozpin remarks dryly and Oscar can’t help but try to duck further behind the threshold of the classroom door. He didn’t want to spy on Ruby, but he also didn’t want to run into Ozpin again quite so soon. He would, he knew, eventually, he _needed_ to, but could he at least get used to things first? Everything was… a lot. Today was a lot.

Give him train crashes and military secrets and Grimm. At least he knew what he was dealing with there. But Beacon Academy? If he didn’t already have nightmares about past lives then he was certain that Beacon with it’s overwhelming expectations to be the best and piles of homework would haunt him.

“Is she right?” Ruby asks Ozpin, small voice tinged with sincere misgiving and self-doubt, shoulders sagging. Oscar felt his heart wrench violently in his chest wanting to reach out to her, because he _knew_ what kind of leader Ruby could be. What kind of leader she _would_ be. He knew she gave her all, loved each and every one of her team, looked after them, and always _, always_ kept moving forward determined to do her very best. And that everyone else loved her and did the same in turn.

Ruby continues, looking at Ozpin with eyes wide, clutching her hands in front of her chest, voice brimming with hurt and doubt and still somehow hopeful to the contrary, “Did you make a mistake?”

There’s more than just a hint of amusement when Ozpin responds, “That remains to be seen.”

Ruby looks at Ozpin with a look of quiet puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s only been one day. Ruby, I’ve made more mistakes than any man, woman, and child on this planet…”

Oscar bows his head looking down at the floor reverentially. Yeah, they have, haven’t they?

“…but at this moment, I would not consider your appointment to leader to be one of them.” Ozpin leans forward, looking at Ruby meaningfully, “Do you?”

 _No,_ Oscar thinks, answering for Ruby and Ozpin from the safety of his own head. _Never._

Ruby didn’t seem like she knew just how to respond. Ozpin continues.

“Being a team leader isn’t just a title you carry into battle, but a badge you wear constantly. If you are not always performing at your absolute best, then what reason do you give others to follow you?”

It’s good advice. And Oscar hates that it’s good advice. Ozpin continued to contain a duality inside him that Oscar didn’t know how to reconcile from moment to moment. In one moment, he understands and forgives, but in the next he feels nothing but frustration. He felt, strongly, that Ozpin’s words and actions came from a place of good, of hope, of care, even if Oscar also felt as though he’d personally been left with the train wreck that the headmaster’s less-than-scrupulous actions forsook.

It bothered him that Ozpin was even talking to Ruby about leadership when Oscar questioned his own. He didn’t like Ozpin talking to Ruby because he knew what lies in the future he would tell her. It had bothered him the way he’d spoken to Jaune the day earlier, too.

But he also couldn’t find _fault_ with it. Jaune had needed to go into that forest thinking he was on his own, that he had no one else to rely on but himself and whoever his new partner would be. Oscar realized that there were, of course, hidden safeguards to make certain new students _wouldn’t_ die. What kind of teacher sent their students off to die without lifting a finger to protect them? Ozpin was a lot of things, but he wasn’t _callous_.

There were cameras everywhere, the instructors were keeping track of their progress—the insensitive, aloof attitude in which he’d handled Jaune with was _supposed_ to instill a sense of unease and fear… because being a huntsman and fighting for the sake of others’ was an uneasy career with frightful circumstances. What was the point of a hunter who couldn’t face their own fears? What was the point of a hunter who couldn’t stand up against what they were afraid of and do what’s right?

…What was the point of telling a student a secret you held for years when you had your own covert group?

Ugh. His head hurt. Whatever.

“You’ve been burdened with a daunting responsibility, Ruby. I advise you take some time to think about how you will uphold it.”

_…Burdened with a daunting responsibility…_

Those words resonate with something deep inside him.

Footsteps, and the conversation is over. When his sudden headache shortly evaporates and Oscar thinks it’s safe to move on without running into anyone he’d eavesdropped on, he steps out from the threshold, and then immediately bumps into Ruby.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there,” Ruby immediately apologizes and then goes to put her hand on the back of her head looking almost embarrassed. “I guess you overheard all that with Professor Ozpin, huh?”

It was real cute the way Ruby wore her hood and cape with her uniform. A Ruby classic. He wondered if Glynda got mad at her and pulled her aside too.

“Y… Yeah. Sorry.”

Ruby fidgets as if struggling with a thought, hands clasped in front of her. With an air that gave Oscar the impression the words that followed took a tremendous effort to actualize, she asks him “…What… do you think?”

“About?”

“Whether or not I can be a good leader? If I deserve it?”

“Oh.”

 _Oh_. She was feeling vulnerable. And there was nothing quite like asking for the opinion of, to her, a complete stranger. Oscar’s heart broke a little.

Oscar was dead certain Ruby would end up as a good leader—as the person he knew her to be—whether or not he said anything, right or wrong, so he didn’t have to think hard about his answer. She already _was_ the person he knew her to be, she just had to realize it herself.

“…I’m not a team leader of anything so I’m not sure if my opinion matters, but let me ask you this: If Weiss were in trouble right now, what would you do?”

“If Weiss was in trouble… then I’d try to help her, right?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

Wow, where did that came from? School environment? Ozpin? Past life? It was a very teacherly response. He decided to put it down as just being influenced by Ozpin’s pep talk to Ruby two seconds ago. He wants to be careful with everyone, to keep from influencing things so greatly that teams RWBY and JNPR didn’t get the experiences they needed to become, well, _them_. He couldn’t tell them who they were or would become. That was something Oscar felt they needed to discover themselves even if It did feel like keeping more secrets. But he really did believe that sometimes you did have to discover things on your own—like who you were, who you wanted to be, how you decided to interact with the world. Things like that and not terrible secrets such as…

“I’d help her,” Ruby declares to him, keeping him from delving to deeply into his thoughts, uncertainty immediately vanquished, silver eyes hardening with uncompromising determination.

“Even though you just had a fight with her?” he baits carefully.

He already knows Ruby’s answer, but sometimes you also needed to hear yourself say it.

“Well… yeah,” Ruby answers him, tilting her head to the side and sounding a touch surprised herself. “You can’t just not help someone because they’re mad at you.” 

“Then… if Weiss were in trouble, and if there were another innocent person you didn’t know who was also in trouble, and you could only save one, who would you save?”

“Well, I… would find a way to save both…?”

“But you can only save _one_.”

Oscar presses her, holding up one finger in front of her as if to illustrate his statement.

“No,” Ruby countered immediately, her stance and expression only growing more resolute in an instant, silver eyes like steel fixed on him. “I know this is a hypothetical. I get it. And I know I can’t save everyone. But I also know that unlike hypotheticals, in reality it’s _possible_ to do both. Hypotheticals are hypotheticals but reality isn’t always all-or-nothing. And that’s what I’d do. Find a way to save them both.”

Because that’s what a hero would do, Oscar thinks to himself, remembering Ruby holding the relic in Brunswick, the lone voice of dissent against everyone, including himself, ready to give up.

“In that case,” Oscar gives a small smile, no longer holding one finger aloft, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Huh?” Ruby’s posture immediately relaxes like a marionette whose strings were cut, confused, but at ease. Oscar had the suspicion she didn’t realize she had tensed up in the first place. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Oscar hums, thinking of Cordovan back in Atlas, of Ironwood, of Lionheart, “here’s how I see it: a leader who only cared about themselves wouldn’t want to help a teammate who hurt their feelings and made them look bad like Weiss just did… and a leader who only cared about the mission wouldn’t care about their team past what they can contribute for ‘the greater good’, the meaning of which is also defined by them alone. …And… a leader who doesn’t worry about being good to their team and protecting the people who are relying on them… isn’t much of a leader at all.”

Ruby’s watches him with a thoughtful frown as he speaks, blinking slowly.

He continues feeling a little more nervous the longer he spoke under Ruby’s gaze, “That you’re worried about Weiss as a friend and teammate says more about what kind of leader you are than anything else, don’t you think? It’s the kind of thing a leader _should_ worry about, right? Though you, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “probably wanna take things a bit more seriously. Weiss sounded really mad.”

Ruby continues to give him a long, measured look as if turning his words over in her mind with careful inspection before she smiles brightly at him, heartfelt and sincere.

“Thanks, Oscar.”

He instantly feels his heart warm.

“And thanks… for listening.”

Oscar tilts his head about to wave off the thanks. Ruby stops him. Firmly.

“No, I mean it. You were smiling the whole time I was telling you I’d save both. Everyone usually tries to find a nice way to tell me I’m naïve when I talk about wanting to be like heroes from the books and that I should set my expectations lower and be more realistic. People are quick to assert that life isn’t like a fairy tale, that bad things happen, that everyone can’t be saved, but… ‘real life’ isn’t…”

Ruby searches for a word.

 _“…Uniformly terrible…”_ Oscar murmurs, completing her thought.

“… _Without hope._ Either. Right.”

People are more resilient than others liked to believe. What was the point of having hopes if you were unwilling to _try?_

After that there was an awkward silence that neither of them could figure out how to fill after having accidentally cut right into serious philosophical beliefs in their “first” meeting. They both find something else to look at for a moment, Oscar his notebook and Ruby her feet, before laughing at the other in clumsy recognition at their mutual social ineptitude.

“So, um,” Ruby brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, daring to try again, working hard to dispel both the awkward space between them and the prior topic, “you got into Beacon early, huh?”

“Y… Yeah. Like… you? I guess?” Oscar traces invisible circles with his thumb on the notebook he was carrying under his arm.

“Oh, yeah, I, uh, tried to stop a Dust robbery in downtown Vale. It didn’t go so well but then Professor Goodwitch showed up and she was like hoowaaaa- witchaaaa!”

Oh, that was right. This Ruby only knew the bare basics of hand-to-hand. Oscar winced watching her imitate karate moves.

“And then she took me to this tiny interrogation room, at least that’s what I think it was, and I met Professor Ozpin and he was all,” here she tries to imitate Ozpin’s voice, “’…Ruby Rose… you have… silver eyes,’ and I was like ‘well, that’s a little weird,’ but I didn’t say that _out loud,_ of course. He gave me cookies.”

The girl smiles brightly at the memory.

…Did Ozpin bribe Ruby to come to his school with cookies? Is… that what happened?

…Wait.

Did Ozpin also comment on Ruby’s eye color the moment he first met her?

…Why did he somehow find his introduction in Mistral that much more embarrassing than it already was? He wanted to hide his face behind his hands even if this Ruby would never have to experience that.

“Sooo, what about you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you must be like me, right? You just said so. You did something that got Ozpin’s attention, too?”

“Oh, right. Umm, I’m not entirely sure.”

Please forgive him Ruby, he’ll tell you the truth once he can, because he knew the only reason he got to come was because of the strange connections Ozpin might be able to draw between himself and Oscar, but he cannot talk about time travel, reincarnation, or Salem in the middle of the hallway. Not… yet.

“Well, you must have done something.”

“Maybe because I… helped apprehend a murderer, I guess?”

Ruby lightly punched his arm in good humor.

“Pfft, why wouldn’t that be the first thing you’d think of?” she asks him, laughing. “That has to be it!” 

Oscar gingerly touches his arm where she’d punched him.

“Well, uh, I think I’ve got some studying to do,” Ruby awkwardly trails off with an energetic nod towards the direction of the dorms, rubbing the fingers she’d punched him with.

“Oh, uh, r-right. Me too…”

Ha ha ha ha. Oh, gods. Why did this always happen?

They parted ways.

[New fanart: [this time I drew Oscar.](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/615487964093562880/my-favorite-boy-wizard-from-rwby-oscar-pine-in?is_highlighted_post=1)]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally, budding rosegarden. 
> 
> (Did you know I wasn't aware of what that term referred to until maybe chapter 6 of writing this?)
> 
> What do you guys think of the bandages around the neck incorporated into Oscar's design? Weird design decision? Tragic Past (tm)? #itsfortheaestheticman? I'm curious.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and commenting.


	10. Our Enemy has Always Been Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Beacon had a dance, then I reason there has to be other extracurriculars too. Also, this chapter took longer than normal because I rewrote it from scratch seven times because I was deeply unsatisfied with each successive draft. That’s not hyperbole. I counted. Depending on how I decide I want to write next chapter, it might be the same thing for that one too.

Team JNPR was different. Obviously, they were different. They still had Pyrrha. She hadn’t been lost yet. Over the first week of school, Oscar was reminded why he never dropped the P in ‘JNPR’ when he thought about Jaune’s team; because Pyrrha was the heart and spine of the team and she would never truly die as long as her team lived on.

And maybe, this time, they wouldn’t have to join the fight against Salem without her.

“Each of you will be assigned one rocket-propelled locker to store your weapons and extra armor,” Glynda was saying, “Additionally, your locker can be sent to a custom location based on a six-digit code.”

A metallic thud, Jaune’s voice squeaks.

_“What!? No! wait, wa—”_

_“What are you doing to Jaune?”_

His voice comes out colder and sharper and angrier than he intended and Cardin Winchester, in the middle of punching in a code to send Jaune flying, almost jumps.

It wasn’t until Glynda Goodwitch turned her stern and disapproving eyes on him, then Cardin Winchester, then finally to the locker Jaune had just been shoved into that Oscar realized he’d spoken much louder than he thought he had. Noticing the situation, Glynda moves in to scold Cardin in front of the entire class, telling him that such behavior was unbecoming of huntsmen and huntresses and that he would need to see her after class.

“Don’t worry, Jaune,” Nora tells her leader brightly without missing a beat and unfazed by the class atmosphere, “we’ll get you out of there.”

Then she punched the locker.

The reinforced, hermetically sealed steel door crumples helplessly like thin paper before her overwhelming might and she wrenches it open with only the brute strength of her fingers.

Nora was terrifying in all timelines, past, present, or future. Perky, pink, and punishing.

Jaune shakily exits, looking more alarmed at Nora than upset at Cardin. Pyrrha had gone over to put a reassuring arm on Jaune’s shoulder to show her support, but for some reason he brushed her off.

Glynda’s expression seemed to have a lot to say about how she felt about this incident, but she moved on in favor of simply repairing the locker to its former shape with a wave of her riding crop and telling Cardin, again, to see her after class.

Cardin Winchester, as Oscar had learned days prior, was the name of the boy who had both been interested in Pyrrha and who had followed Velvet with his friend, eyeing her ears. Cardin Winchester, Oscar was beginning to learn, was a bully who tormented and teased those around him with his large size, strength, and intimidating personality. Cardin Winchester, Oscar continued to realize, had a family member on the board that funded Beacon, which might be why he felt invincible and entitled to others.

Oscar felt himself go uncharacteristically cold before he shook himself out of it.

Why was Jaune letting Cardin push him around? No, that was the wrong way to think about things. No one _lets_ someone bully them. It wasn’t Jaune’s fault. It was Cardin’s decision to hurt him. The better question might be what was different about Past-Jaune that Future-Jaune didn’t have? Oscar knows that while Jaune could be kind and silly and put-upon, he was also _brave_ and strong and persistent. He knew that Jaune could be inspiring.

Oscar eyes Pyrrha who catches his gaze and they both look back to Jaune. 

“You scoundrel!” Alexander exclaims indignantly from behind Oscar once Cardin reluctantly edges back into the crowd of students listening to Glynda talk. “He could have suffocated in there!”

“Yeah, well, happy thoughts,” Cardin bitterly replies, glowering at Oscar.

But Oscar is steadfast in his defense of Jaune that he isn’t the one who breaks eye contact first.

“Thanks for sticking your neck out for me, Oscar,” Jaune was saying to Oscar as they left class. “You sounded a little scary back there, though. I thought your partner was supposed to be the scary one. Uh, no offense.”

Jaune raises his hands in a gesture of peace and goodwill, which in response Rook merely hums a small note of acknowledgement and giving the smallest of nods. She then proceeded to ignore Jaune completely after that small act of concession. Pyrrha took this to mean that Rook accepted Jaune’s apology.

At least, she hopes that’s what that meant. It was hard to tell.

Pyrrha felt a little hurt that Jaune would shrug off her support after he’d gotten out of the locker but accept and thank Oscar’s interference, however, she reminded herself that this wasn’t about her. Cardin had literally just shoved Jaune in a locker and was about to launch it to who-knows-where before getting called out. She hoped Goodwitch gave him a good verbal thrashing and that Cardin would never treat Jaune like that again.

Besides, Oscar _had_ sounded surprisingly scary when he’d called out Cardin with that icy look in his eye. Even Rook, “the scary one”, had looked startled when his voice rang out in class.

“A team leader must acknowledge their peers when addressed,” Alexander scolds Rook uselessly, cutting the air with his hand as if chopping through the invisible strands of Rook’s impropriety. The faunus rolls her eyes and ignores him too.

Team JNPR and NOIR (except Lacy, she had an errand to run in Vale, apparently, because “Soz, forgive me, but, _you_ know!”) found themselves in the courtyard where several makeshift booths manned by other students were handing out fliers and attracting small crowds.

It was a recruiting day for student organizations.

“Whoa…” from beside her, Oscar breathes, mostly to himself. His youthful face looked dazzled at the display of colorful handmade signs and performances students were giving to get others to give them their time. There were student organizations such as amateur CCT operators (pirate CCT stations), arts, sports, and so on.

Pyrrha smiles. He was just like a k—well, she supposed, he _is_ a kid.

“Hey, Oscar!” someone calls out to him from one of the makeshift booths.

“Oh, hey there, Velvet.”

A faunus girl with rabbit ears waved Oscar over to her booth. Pyrrha and the others followed with. 

“Journalism Club?” Oscar asks, raising his eyebrows.

He seemed to be on good terms with the faunus girl. Actually, he seemed to be on good terms with a lot of faunus. There was the faunus girl he sent messages to over his Scroll, (Pyrrha had peeked over his shoulder once when he was replying to a photo the girl had sent of her wearing a hat that looked like a frog, her little antlers peeking out from the top, with Oscar eloquently typing out ‘?????’ in response). He also seemed to be on good terms, considering, with his uncommunicative partner, Rook, who could be scary and pretty much scorned everyone else around her. And now… Velvet…

It made her wonder if…

Oh, but _no_ , that’s a prejudiced thought, Pyrrha scolds herself. She can’t just assume that just because he was good at making faunus friends!

“Yeah!” Velvet responds enthusiastically to Oscar’s question handing him a flier, “I’m also the treasurer of the Faunus for a Fair and Just Society right next door.”

She gestures towards the booth next to her, and the two other members behind the booth wave at them. Pyrrha gives a gentle wave back.

“How did you two meet?” Pyrrha asks, returning her attention to Velvet and trying to figure out what year she was in. Upperclassman, of course, but why did she seem so familiar…?

“We met one morning when I was endurance training. Now we do it together.”

“Hey, why don’t you ever bring us along?” Alexander interjects, sliding up to and beside Oscar. Alexander moved in the most peculiar way, like he was a right angle and could only move in ninety degrees at a time, stiff and sharp, cutting through a world made of circles. Pyrrha was pretty sure he came from a military family in Atlas. Maybe that was why.

“Because none of you are ever awake at five in the morning,” is Oscar’s matter-of-fact response. 

“You’re all welcome to join,” Velvet says eagerly, although she was only eyeing Rook.

To which the fox faunus only replies with a bland, disinterested, “Hmm…”

Jaune stands on his tiptoes to peer over the group now crowding around Velvet’s booth. 

“Isn’t it kind of hard to be a part of two clubs at once on top of all our huntsmen training and Professor Oobleck’s essays?” he asks, scratching his cheek curiously and making an expression that seemed to say he would feel beleaguered if that were the case for him.

“That does certainly seem like it would be difficult,” Ren comments mildly.

“It’s _‘Doctor’_ Oobleck,” a voice from behind them corrects quickly and expectantly. The group turns around and finds themselves face-to-face with Dr. Oobleck himself who takes a sip from his thermos before continuing. “And a student is allowed to join any number of clubs provided they maintain a satisfactory GPA and continue an extinguished level of mastery regarding their combat skills. Why, I myself was in twelve separate clubs while I attended this very institution—”

“T-Twelve?” Jaune’s eyebrows shot up, “How—?”

Collectively, the group glances at the thermos in Oobleck’s hand.

“What one can learn here at Beacon is only limited by your will to achieve it!”

Also, probably, caffeine.

“Unfortunately, I’m also in charge of supervising the courtyard right now and must carry on.”

The group watches as Oobleck sprints into the crowd, practically leaving a motion-blur of himself behind.

“Dr. Oobleck is the advisor for both the journalism club and the FFJS,” Velvet helpfully explains after the professor speeds off. 

Oscar curiously glances at the leaflet Velvet gave him, “Why journalism and not photography? When we first talked you described the artistry behind taking photos.”

“Oh, um…”

Velvet’s cheeks turn pink and she looks down at her lap.

“Those guys think they’re too good for everyone else,” a new girl in sunglasses and black beret says harshly, sauntering up from behind Velvet suddenly and putting a hand on her teammate’s shoulder. “They limit membership using a biased evaluation system. They refused Velvet because she was too avant-garde.”

Coco seems oddly proud of Velvet’s style of photography. 

“Hey, Oscar,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Hello, Coco,” Oscar responds in kind.

Pyrrha startles in sudden recognition.

“You’re team CVFY!”

Coco lowers her aviator glasses and peers over them to get a better look at her. Meanwhile, both Jaune and Oscar—bless their innocent, oblivious hearts—exchanged glances, confused. Neither of them knew of team CVFY’s fame or influence, (even though Oscar was, apparently, somehow associated with them!) which was, frankly, a quality to both of them that elated her. Pyrrha had chosen Beacon over Haven because there was _some_ chance other people might not know who she was and wouldn’t jump all over themselves to be her friend just to feel closer to something special that… she didn’t actually have. People put her on a pedestal so far out of reach it was like she wasn’t even a person anymore, just the idea of one instead.

Jaune… and Nora, and Ren, and Oscar didn’t do that. Team RWBY didn’t do that either. Besides Weiss, she wasn’t sure if anyone from Team RWBY really understood that she was famous. She wasn’t even sure they understood that _Weiss_ was famous. 

“Pyrrha Nikos, right?” Coco says, eyeing her in a way that made it very clear she was sizing her up. “’The Invincible Girl?’”

“Sorry, I don’t actually call myself that.”

“Yeah, well, we only adopt the titles we can use. You earned yours. I enjoyed watching your fights in the Mistral Regional Tournament. This your team?”

Pyrrha had noticed during the week that, sometimes, once people finally processed that yes, really, she was _the_ Pyrrha Nikos from the tournament and cereal boxes that they would expect her to have been the leader of her team. A lot of people then wanted to know if she felt shafted or resentful or if she felt Jaune didn’t _deserve_ to be their leader.

But he did, and Pyrrha knows in her heart that Professor Ozpin saw the same things in Jaune that she had.

Jaune was inexperienced, but he was _kind_. Jaune was insecure, but in that one excursion alone in the forest, she had seen his growth. It was Jaune who directed them in how to handle the Death Stalker, calling his teammate’s names when it was clear that the action that should be taken next could only be handled by them, from Pyrrha slicing off the Death Stalker’s stinger, to Nora hammering it in a way so that it was driven through its armor and into its soft interior. Pyrrha was used to being singled out and working by herself, Ren and Nora were clearly used to working together and only with each other, but it was Jaune who had brought them all together and helped them rally during that battle.

She hadn’t known Jaune or her teammates for very long, and she knew she was the most visible and unapproachable member of their group because of that pedestal people put her on, but she was deeply saddened that people overlooked their actual leader for her instead. He had so much potential to grow, and she alongside him.

Coco didn’t do that, however.

She leveled a shrewd gaze at Jaune.

“Professor Ozpin sure has a way of making things interesting, don’t you think? He’s got kind of a reckless charm, but he’s a crafty one. I like it. I think you’ll do just fine. Just don’t let your insecurities endanger your team.”

Coco was blunt and she saw far more than her stony expression let on.

Jaune almost gulps under her fixed gaze, “M-Me? Fine? I will be?”

Ren and Nora are quick to encourage their team leader and soon he was turning pink with embarrassment.

“Honestly, I’m still not over the shock,” Jaune manages to say with a little self-deprecating laugh that made it sound like he was telling a joke. “I keep thinking I’m going to get pulled into Ozpin’s office and he’s going to sit me down and tell me that, actually, this was a mistake and I don’t belong here.”

Pyrrha’s heart breaks and she knows that Ren and Nora feel similarly. Coco’s jaw goes tight and she presses her lips into a thin line. Even Velvet’s ears droop when she heard this.

Oscar fills the sudden silence, voice firm, sincere, and like he couldn’t say it fast enough.

_“He wouldn’t do that!_ You’re going to be a great leader, Jaune!”

He says that like knows it to be true.

“Yeah,” Coco chimes in immediately after, propping a hand on her hip and gesturing with her other hand. “Give the silver fox some credit. He knows what he’s doing with the leader appointments. Trust me.”

Coco had an air to her that seemed to say, ‘ _After all, Ozpin chose **me**.’ _

Velvet looks up at her teammate with alarm, “Um, Coco? I thought you were—”

“Appreciate beauty where you find it,” Coco tells them, loftily sweeping her arm in a manner that made Pyrrha imagine grand castles and glittering fountains around them instead of plastic booths, “That’s one of my rules.”

And then, to Pyrrha’s sudden heart-pumping horror…

“What do you mean by ‘silver fox?’”

They all turn to look back at Oscar, who looked at them with those big, curious eyes.

Oh no, Pyrrha thinks. Oh no oh no. Ozpin was Oscar’s _dad_ , even if they were keeping it a secret. You didn’t just tell your little kid friend that other people might find his dad attractive right in front of him.

“ _You_ know—” Nora starts to tell him.

She leans over to tell Oscar, and as if one, Jaune, Ren, Pyrrha and even Coco, Velvet, and Alexander are frantically making silent signals to tell Nora to stop. Halt. Cease. Desist. Although the others didn’t know Oscar’s circumstances like she did, they probably thought it was a little inappropriate to impart such knowledge upon a boy of Oscar’s age. Even Rook had a look of horror on her face that mirrored Pyrrha’s as Nora went to whisper in Oscar’s ear.

Nora does not see the signals and she does not stop.

_“…Oh.”_ Is all Oscar had to say about that, going very quiet with sudden interest in the ground and his face turning beet red.

_I’m so sorry,_ _sweet Oscar_ , Pyrrha thinks to herself, feeling pained. Then she gives a silent prayer, _Please forgive me Professor Ozpin, for being unable to shield your son._

Also, Nora. They were going to have a _talk_.

Soon after, they parted ways with NOIR and headed for the dining hall.

Over the week, Ozpin had been keeping a distant eye on Oscar.

As a huntsman-in-training, he had several positive qualities. During Initiation he had a good sense of direction, didn’t hesitate to jump into battle to join Rook against the Grimm, and his fighting skills (which were as similar to his as Qrow had pointed out) were adequate with room for improvement. Glynda had also been reporting to him about his character and behavior in class. Quiet, friendly, attentive. He was even protective of his fellow classmates, Glynda had said, regarding the incident this afternoon. It was one thing to face Grimm, it was an entirely different matter to see the wrong other _people_ were doing and act against it.

He usually said it in the graduation ceremony, but Beacon wasn’t a place and was instead an idea taken root in the students. The students who graduated are supposed to carry their hearts as beacons of hope in the world when it grew dark and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Yes, he picked a team or two to keep an eye on every year and sometimes he recruited from the school to fight against Salem, but the Grimm had existed long before she or his original life had, and there would always be monsters to fight even after they were both, should it finally come to pass, gone. There would always be people that caused as much pain as monsters did and it was harder to stand up against someone who should be on the same side.

Regardless, Glynda’s observations supported his own conclusions as well. The boy had made friends with Miss Pyrrha Nikos on his first day, a brilliant, level-headed girl he imagined many people put on a pedestal and had great expectations of and who bowed her head to neither fame nor glory and therefore unlikely to heed sycophants or star-struck fans. Furthermore, he’d overheard his conversation with Miss Ruby Rose after he, apparently, overheard _their_ conversation together. As a teacher, the nature of their conversation made him feel proud. As a maybe-father, he felt even prouder.

His negatives as a huntsman… or rather, a student: they didn’t know anything about him. Small farming villages rarely kept accurate records, let alone birth or marriage certificates. They especially didn’t collect these things if someone had moved there from somewhere else, which seemed to be the case with Oscar’s parents. As such, he couldn’t find any information about Oscar’s mom or whether or not he had _known_ her. Not even her _name_.

Records he could count on, however, belonged to Beacon’s library. If he couldn’t uncover Oscar’s past, he can certainly try to uncover the future Oscar said was coming.

According to the library records, Oscar had taken to going through the newspaper archives digging up articles on the four huntsmen academies and their _headmasters_ —a fact Glynda had been quick to point out while giving him a meaningful look—along with content that can only be described as in-depth research about current events. Delving into the body of work of an Atlas scientist long dead due to the Paladin Accident, tracking down personal accounts and stories about a serial killer from Anima, recent political upheavals caused by the White Fang in Vale, information on Mantle and Atlas ,the creation thereof and their civic relationship…

Glynda had mentioned that it could just be an innocent, budding interest in politics, or…

_…Something far more sinister._ Ozpin hadn’t needed Glynda to finish her statement. The implications of what she thought were clear.

_Or,_ another part of him argues, a memory of green-gold eyes in the moonlight and a voice of conviction blooming in the back of his mind, _he’s acting as someone chasing down dissimilar threads that only he knew would transform into a whole tapestry in the terrible future he’d alluded to._

He understood Glynda’s caution. In normal circumstances he might assume the same, an agent of Salem trying to gain his trust and instigate events to create a roaring pandemonium in this era, destroy peace, raze the stability he’d worked so hard to build, and end his life once again; but Glynda wasn’t subject to dreams, _memories_ , that felt markedly similar to when he, Ozpin, had first received this eternal curse. She thought he was being sentimental because of who Oscar might _be_ to him and while that might have been true the first few days, now that he’d had time to think about it logically, he couldn’t risk the possibility that Oscar was _exactly_ what he said he was.

That is, someone who was doing their very best to prevent him from dying in the future and stop “more terrible things” from coming to pass. Terrible things that would, apparently, involve the White Fang, a serial killer, and a deceased scientist.

Additionally, it was clear to him that if Oscar wasn’t already caught up in the war with Salem, then he soon would be. It was evident that Oscar knew this too given his… insight… if he could call it that… and was furthermore aware of the stakes. He and James had specifically talked about Salem in his dream, about Ozpin himself. If Present-Oscar was subject to visions or knowledge of Future-Oscar, then maybe he’d seen the same things Ozpin had. Which meant he was, in effect, presently read-in on most of the secrets his lieutenants held.

…Possibly more… but he couldn’t be certain of that. 

(And it would _have_ to be Future-Oscar in those dreams. Ruby Rose standing in the cargo hold of the bullhead while Oscar sat in the co-pilot’s seat during his dream didn’t make sense otherwise. Which meant that Ruby would be involved in the future, too. In which case, he needed to keep more of an eye on her than he already had been.)

He hadn’t told Glynda or the others about the dream-memories yet. He would, all in due time, but he wanted to get a better sense of _why_. He didn’t believe magic was involved and it was self-evident that Oscar didn’t know of the dreams Ozpin was receiving either. 

Oscar was upset with him and would not tell him anything more of the future he said was coming because he wasn’t yet sure if Ozpin could be trusted. (Because he thought he was an absentee father?) Although, the boy had also admitted to struggling over how much he _should_ change the future and, granted he never said it, Ozpin suspected he was also wrestling over how much he _could_ change as one fourteen-year-old boy.

Earlier in the week, he’d asked Glynda if she thought he looked like him.

His headmistress had only responded with a frown and a strained, “…Maybe if you squint.”

Glynda thought he should talk to him and even if Ozpin agreed, he found himself a touch reluctant. Oscar had pushed him away with such rejection in that one moment under the broken moon, even if he apologized for it right afterwards, that he was hesitant to approach again and open himself up to further hurt. Ozpin worried about getting hurt more than people thought. He worried about betrayal of being scorned or hated. He was so impossibly weak when it came to the expectations of others—always trying to be better than himself and be the person everyone wanted, _needed_ , him to be: a leader, the one who had the answers when everything went wrong, the one who inspired action, inspired hope, and who could never, ever let someone else see that he was also human.

In his other lives, he’s had wives and husbands and children, but as for Ozpin himself in _this_ life, he thought letting himself get close to someone and having a child would only put them in horrifying danger if Salem and his enemies discovered them. That wasn’t something he was prepared to witness. That wasn’t something he would wish on anyone. _He’s_ had the nightmares of another Oz before him, his family torn viscerally apart before his very eyes at the hands of Salem while he was powerless to resist. He had his _own_ nightmares of losing students in _this_ life on training missions, their lives cut bitterly short. The students of his school already felt so much like they were his children. It already hurt so much when he lost even one of them…

He was already afraid of losing so much to Salem and the war, he couldn’t knowingly create a family and put them at risk because of his destiny and his curse.

And yet, despite feeling so strongly about it, he’d still had a couple of relationships even if they hadn’t ultimately led anywhere, because he was human just like anyone else who was good at ignoring the better part of their own decisions and who made mistakes due to their heart.

And now, it appeared as if one of those indiscretions, despite careful efforts, presented him with a very real, very solid connection to the world he simply _could not lose._ Furthermore, a connection he feared would reject him in the same way betrayals inevitably came back when others would learn the truth, swift, furious anger. Violent rejection. Hurt and more hurt.

It was a connection that Salem would rip away from him in her endless desire to destroy if she ever found out. He’d been able to push Salem back time and time again but never truly defeat her. She could not be killed and the sum of every Oz’s effort amounted to nothing more than a stalemate.

Oz was immortal, but time was still finite depending on each life lived.

What he realized, as he had in every life, was that his enemy was _time_. More now than ever, given Oscar’s unstated deadline of ‘near-future.’

He idly wondered if he’d get the time to know him…

When they get back to their dorm room, Pyrrha tries to have a discreet conversation with Nora so that the boys couldn’t hear.

“Nora, you can’t say stuff like that around Oscar!”

“C’mon, Pyrrha, relax,” Nora flaps a hand, munching on a snack, “When I was ten I knew all about that kind of—”

“No, that’s not it. I mean, that’s part of it, but…”

Pyrrha sighs.

“You can’t tell anyone, but Ozpin is Oscar’s dad.”

Nora’s eyes goes wide.

“Oh no!” Nora says, instantly understanding and speaking much louder than Pyrrha would have liked, “I’ve destroyed our pure sweet baby boy! What have I done?”

“Our?” asks Ren, honing in on their conversation now that Nora was wriggling about in shame and wailing.

“…Baby boy?” Jaune inquires further.

Nora gives them both a plain stare.

“What, you two _don’t_ want to adopt cute boy Oscar?”

…For what it’s worth, Pyrrha would like it known how difficult it was for people to say no to a girl with a giant hammer and a keen willingness to use it.

Oscar watches the moon outside their dormitory window while Alexander got ready for the night. It was a surprisingly chilly evening for the time of year it was.

He hears a shout from the room next to him.

…Nora.

It was incredible luck that he found himself occupying the dorm room right next to JNPR and kitty-corner to RWBY. It was not incredible luck that both JNPR and RWBY could be very, very _loud._

Oscar goes back to watching the moon. A memory bubbles up to him.

_Blake had disappeared shortly after returning from the mission in the mines. The mission had, he heard, been a success despite the bad taste left by Jaques Schnee showing up afterwards._

_It was Oscar who found her, at the edge of Atlas Academy’s front courtyard, looking down on the lights of the city, the big moon hanging in front of her silhouette. He saw one of her ears twitch and she called out to him, voice somber and thoughtful, like she barely registered he was there._

_“Hey, Oscar.”_

_She hadn’t even turned around, but she could still distinguish his footfalls from all the others. Blake’s ability to hear such small sounds and pinpoint the differences between them was incredible. He didn’t care that she was a cat faunus and that was simply an ability she had because of it, he still thought it was absolutely impressive in its own right._

_Oscar returned her greeting with one of his own._

_“Hey. Are you watching over the city?”_

_Curiously, he peered over the edge._

_The lights below are cool, soft, like blue topaz glowing in the dark. It was a view that was both strangely nostalgic and for-the-first-time beautiful, glittering points of light above and below them, a city proudly wreathed in stars and sky, entirely at one with the clouds. He was filled with as much awe and wonder as he had been the first time he’d seen Atlas despite Weiss’ vocal misgivings._

_“Yang was looking for you earlier,” Oscar told her when he looked back up at Blake._

_“Oh,” Blake murmured quietly, her cheeks turning just a little pink, too much time outside, most likely, “Yes, I know.”_

_She lifted up her Scroll for him to see, implying Yang had already messaged her._

_“I just wanted to have a little time to myself. It’s been a while since I last had the opportunity. A lot has happened…”_

_That was true enough. Since meeting in Mistral and the two weeks it took for him to recover after Ozpin pushed his body past its limits in the fight against Hazel along with Blake and her father Ghira deciding how to move forward as the New White Fang, none of them really have had time to themselves. There was the train crash, the farmhouse, the trek through the snow, Argus and the fight to reach Atlas. It was one catastrophe after another and they had all just kept pressing on together, eight teenagers, an old lady, and a drunk-now-sobering Qrow._

_Oscar felt like he could relate to Blake though. He liked spending time alone too. Not excessively, but this was the first time he’d been around so many people continuously all at once and it could feel a little crowded. It had taken him a while to get comfortable talking with everyone, but the more he warmed up to it the less he started to feel like an outsider intruding in on someone else’s space. More and more, he felt like an actual member of the team._

_He knew Blake the least of the original Beacon teams. She’d only joined them since Mistral and he’d had the least time to get to know her, but he thought she was a little like him in that it took her time to feel comfortable and open with others._

_He didn’t say anything, but he still stood by her looking down at the glow of the city so that she knew he was here. She had said she came out here to be alone, but the particular inflection in her voice sounded like she had more to add._

_Blake murmured, slow and thoughtful, watching Atlas with golden eyes._

_“It was just… seeing Weiss with her father today and going into the abandoned Dust mine had me thinking… About the past, who I used to be.” She clenched her fists. “I used to think that all of Atlas—no, all of humanity was my enemy. I thought reconciliation was impossible, so I helped push an agenda of violence and destruction because I didn’t see any other option that would get humans to see us as equal. I thought if humanity wouldn’t listen, then I’d give them no other choice but to listen.”_

_Oscar knew that Blake had been a part of the White Fang at some point although he didn’t have many details about it. He wasn’t sure if she was more revolutionary than terrorist or the other way around. Blake didn’t like to talk about herself. He knew, vaguely, that she was in a position to influence the New White Fang with her father Ghira and that she had some sort of political clout when it came to the faunus of Menagerie. The only reason he knew this, again, was because he had idly listened to the others talk about it while he was slipping in and out of consciousness in Haven._

_Blake wraps her arms around her middle, as if cold, or sick. Her now-short blunt black hair blew in the wind, moonlight on her face, stars above her head, Atlas below her feet._

_“Leaving the White Fang—leaving Adam—was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Do I give up fighting this… this moral attrition as the violence increased after each mission and as each brutality piled up, or do I throw away my righteousness and flee to save myself? I hated myself for so long because I was running away. I thought I was over this, and yet, I didn’t realize until today, when Weiss’ father was talking down to her,” Blake’s voice cracked, “and she called me ‘family’, that instead I was running **to** something.”_

_Blake turned her face away so Oscar couldn’t see._

_“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”_

_Oscar turned his attention back to watching over Atlas, blue-green glow reflected in his eyes, clasping his hands together in front of him. If she didn’t want him looking at her, then he shouldn’t. He didn’t want people looking at him when he cried either._

_“I don’t know a lot about the White Fang,” Oscar murmured to Blake, just as quietly and slowly as she had been speaking to him before, “and I don’t know a lot about you or what happened, but… I think, well, you’re trying to save the world with all of us, and it’s okay if one of those people you save is **you**. And…” _

_There wasn’t a lot Oscar knew about Blake, there really wasn’t, but he did know one more thing._

_“Whatever happened in the past, even if you hate yourself for it, you can always get up, move forward, and choose to do good. The mistakes in your past don’t invalidate the good you’re doing now.”_

_“You should listen to him, young lady. If not him then an old woman who’s been running all her life until she bumped into a couple of youngsters who dumped a pile of nonsense in her lap.”_

_Maria was approaching them, navigating her way with her cybernetic eyes and her cane._

_“To your credit,” Blake responded with a noticeable effort to control her voice, still refusing to look at them, arms still wrapped around her middle, “you’ve never once let us down and you’ve taken everything in stride suspiciously well.”_

_“When you get to my age, you just start accepting that there are impossible things happening around you all the time, like magic, or, tiny waffles.”_

_Blake laughed and rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. When she talked next, she bowed her head, shadow falling over her face, her voice was shaky._

_“It was just… overwhelming talking to Weiss earlier today at the mine, about how she feels responsible for her complacency towards our plight and then holding her hand when she called me family, I thought in that moment that **this** is what I wanted for the faunus—coming to a resolution together. And I still don’t know how to make that happen for the rest of us.” _

_“Well, why do you have to be the only one trying to make that happen?” Maria asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t be the only one hoping for that kind of change. Just as you’re not the only one who’s been given a second chance to do some real good in the world. If I were you, I’d just be glad to be as young as you are when I finally figured it out and took my second chance.”_

_Maria had been the Grimm Reaper who had gone into hiding soon after she lost the use of her eyes and it was Ruby who encouraged her when she had lamented that she hadn’t done more to leave the world in better shape than she found it. It was Ruby who said that maybe she could do something now, that she still had time to do some good. Blake had been a revolutionary, or a terrorist, or both and she felt so strongly about fighting for her people and giving back to the world that even if she had been those things, what she was doing now still mattered._

_And, strangely, Oscar could relate. Oz, all of them, had regrets and made mistakes and wished they could do more, that they could still give more to the world and to the war against Salem. If anything, Oscar was a living litany of their mistakes, but in the end they had all tried to do some good._

_Oscar was also a living memory of all the hope every Oz had ever held. And sometimes, in order to save yourself and keep hold of hope, you had to forgive yourself, too._

_Blake turned to look at them both, tears in her eyes but a small smile on her face._

_“You’re right.”_

Mistakes in the past don’t invalidate the good you’re doing now. And Oscar wholeheartedly knew that Ozpin was trying to do good. He'd made his decision. He would go to talk with Ozpin.

After all, _their_ enemy was time and the clock was ticking.

[Here's a doodle of what [Rook looks like!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/617131577643827200/a-doodle-of-rook-a-rwby-oc-from-a-fanfic-of-mine)]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has the power to change, grow, and forgive themselves. You, who is reading this right now, too. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. You Are Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bothers me that Ozpin has a hella sweet office, but no drawers or cabinets to store any of his junk in, so I have diverted from the canonical layout of his office and have given him one. Thank me later, Oz.

Getting into Ozpin’s office was almost offensively easy. He had the muscle memory for the keycode to get him into the elevator and out into the office. He was surprised Ozpin hadn’t been in here already when he arrived, but the headmaster was nowhere to be seen.

It was both anticlimactic and disappointing.

Oscar wanders over to the large clockface window behind the desk, resisting the urges and impulses that flashed through his mind that came with being present in the same place as a life prior to his. Cascading feelings of nostalgic-first-times had submerged him in a torrent of complicated thoughts and even more complex, chaotic, fleeting memories without context throughout the entire week, but this was something else entirely. He was almost _shaking_ from the resonance he felt. He couldn’t be sure if this was just a state of the merge or because he was finally feeling the effects of being displaced in time and existing in the same physical location as a person who housed all the same thoughts and memories of another, like moon overlapping sun in an eclipse of self-identity.

It was as if he was watching a video of himself with a glitchy framerate but instead it was physical, almost tangible memory. Oscar sitting at the desk, Oscar offering hot chocolate to guests, Oscar standing by the window, cane in hand, and looking down at Beacon with Glynda—no, Ironwood—no, Qrow by his side.

But Oscar slaps those feelings back in place. He wasn’t Ozpin. He wasn’t any of those past lives no matter how much the ghost of their histories burned under his skin, always looming, always hungry. And maybe he wasn’t _exactly_ Oscar Pine anymore but was instead who Oscar Pine was trying to be. Ozpin was Oz. But Oscar was _also_ Oz. 

He had decided in the elevator down to Ironwood that he was the one who had to make his own decisions and the one who now carried this burden. Except in this timeline, there were now _two_ people who could carry it.

He wouldn’t be alone and neither would Ozpin.

He resists the urge to sit at the desk, resists the urge for cocoa, and resists the urge to stand by the window, the Long Memory cane in hand. He sits on the floor instead, legs crossed, elbow propped on his knee, head in his hand watching Beacon though the large window with only the undying creak of gears to accompany him.

Then he waits. 

After a time, the elevator doors open once again. Oscar shifts, pulling his knees up a bit and encircling them with his arms, turning to look at who he knew to be Ozpin before the automatic doors even fully closed.

“…Hello,” Ozpin greets him after the slightest pause, hands on the pommel of his version of the Long Memory, the slimmest raise of his eyebrows. If he was surprised at him being there, he wasn’t going to show it. “Now, how did you get in here?”

His tone was casual and curious like he was a just squirrel who had unintentionally wandered in from outside, but Oscar saw the way his fingers tightened on his cane with caution.

“…Hello…” Oscar responds, determined not to sound like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Which, he wasn’t. Not… exactly. This was his office too! …Kind of. Nevertheless, getting stared at by an adult such as Ozpin looking as if he’d caught Oscar stealing from the cookie jar made him feel a little guilty regardless or whether he was actually guilty. He shrugs off the feeling because at this point he is almost more experienced speaking with adults than he was people his own age.

“I’m very sneaky,” Oscar responds, obviously hedging because how he got in would become self-evident. “Would you like to sit with me?”

He pats the space next to him on the floor in front of the window and offers a tranquil smile.

Any ordinary person might see his behavior as brazen, unabashed, and a little mischievous, which admittedly maybe that was exactly how he was feeling, but he didn’t want to have this conversation with the two of the on uneven footing, with Ozpin sitting comfortably behind his desk and Oscar feeling like an intruder. He wanted to have this conversation on his terms but give Ozpin equal ground.

“Why are you here?” Ozpin asks him, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice and fixing him with a measured stare, eyes only the slightest bit narrowed. He was a perceptive man and had probably already begun to come to his own conclusions, most of which were probably correct.

Oscar gazes back without flinching. This was the conversation he had come all the way to Beacon for. He wasn’t going to be scared off and he wasn’t going to let his emotions get the better of him like they had last time.

His answer is frank and sincere.

“I came here to convince you to fight. And give you some advice.”

Ozpin frowns and then begins to circumspectly approach him. He elects not to sit beside him, but instead stand next to him where the light of the broken moon streamed in from the clockface window, drawing their shadows out long behind them as though hands on a timepiece themselves. He watches the campus below them, cane in hand. His expression was impossible to read, and even though Oscar had Ozpin literally living in his head (even if his roommate was currently out) it was impossible to guess what he was thinking at this very moment. Oscar wonders what might be crossing his mind, how he appeared to Ozpin still dressed in his combat gear so late at night sitting in front of his window after casually breaking into his office without apparent contrition. Did he look like an enemy? A friend?

Well, he certainly looked suspicious. 

“And whom shall I be fighting against?”

“You know,” Oscar responds matter-of-factly, because he _did_ know. “Her. Salem.”

Ozpin stiffens, and his grip tightens on the cane making his knuckles go white, but his expression seems to say he expected this much. The man closes his eyes as if steeling himself for something.

“I know you’re afraid,” Oscar says looking from Ozpin to out the window again, his tone neither sympathetic nor judgmental. “I also know you don’t have a plan to defeat her. I want to fight her together.””

Ozpin is deathly quiet, his eyes open again, and his lips form into a grim, somber frown. The headmaster steps away, turns his back on Oscar as if indifferent and goes over to the small, curved desk where he kept his hot chocolate and other refreshments such as tea or coffee, rifling through the drawers. Oscar would say it was in the corner of the room, but… well… the room was a literal circle.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?” Ozpin asks him mildly, almost as if he didn’t even hear what Oscar had just said.

“I like green tea,” Oscar answered just as mildly.

Ozpin merely nods and as if on autopilot begins the process of brewing tea. Leaning his cane against the table and turning on an electric kettle.

“In your interview,” Ozpin starts in a low, but clear voice, sharp and sure, “you said that you thought we lived in a divided time, that fear was compelling and that deciding what to do about it mattered… that you thought there were people whose intention was to drive others apart… you were referring to Salem then, weren’t you?”

Oscar notices that Ozpin does not acknowledge his prior statement about being afraid. He didn’t think Ozpin was prideful enough to claim he wasn’t, nor lack the self-awareness to be unable to see his true feelings. More than likely, he’s probably trying to determine Oscar’s _position_ in all this. What’s safe to admit and what wasn’t? Especially to a child who, from his perspective, he didn’t know nor knew anything about regardless of his prior bold claims about the future. Ozpin was guarded and reserved, but not prideful in the way where he could not admit to others of having fears or doubts or reservations.

Given, the latter of those times were rare and only with very close confidants like Qrow and the like, but Oscar had not earned that trust yet. He didn’t even know who Oscar really was.

“Yes. That is also exactly how I feel. And it’s not _just_ Salem who sows division of trust. We do that to ourselves, too.”

Ozpin is similarly quiet after this, clearly ruminating. He turns around and leans ever so slightly against the table. He drums his fingers on its surface.

“The last time we spoke, you told me you were deliberating what and how much to tell me of this future where I die. Have you decided?”

Oscar nods.

“You also claimed you wanted my trust.”

“I… know you have close confidants, but I also know there’s no one that you truly trust. Not really. Not the way you need it. A lot of people believe in you, _really_ believe in you, but you don’t believe in them.”

Ozpin’s expression goes blank at what Oscar knew to be an exceedingly intimate statement for someone he’d only talked to a few times (in this timeline, at least) that implied far more than the amount of words it took to say.

“And that’s the person you want to be.”

Ozpin’s voice is completely flat and his face is carefully composed, practically stony. There’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before. He’s stepped over a line in saying what he had, but Oscar had done it with a purpose in mind. It was a deeply personal statement that no one could possibly know, and even though he hadn’t meant for it to be accusatory, Oscar knew that they would be words that would challenge him.

“No. That’s the person I _need_ to be.”

“Because it will help you prevent other ‘terrible things’ from happening in this future where I die?”

“Yes. I can only do so much alone. All of us can only do so much alone. We’re stronger when we’re together… Even you. And… to be honest, I need someone I can trust, too.”

“I see…”

Ozpin brings over Oscar’s tea, carefully handing it to him with a saucer and everything before returning for his own hot chocolate and then, much to his astonishment, sitting down with him. There was a dead serious look on his face as he set the Long Memory to his side and cradled the mug of cocoa in his hands in a way that came across to Oscar as strangely calculating.

“Is there anything you can say to _prove_ to me this future is real?”

“Yes, actually.”

There’s a brief moment where Ozpin raises his eyebrows in surprise, clearly not expecting such a confident and immediate answer.

Oscar unclips his own cane from his belt and carefully and—to his surprise—nervously to Ozpin. He had stopped thinking of it as _Ozpin’s cane_ and started thinking of it instead as _his_.

Oscar is quiet while Ozpin does the reshuffling of items in his hands with the mug now on the floor the opposite side of him and inspecting Oscar’s own cane now in his hands.

He had briefly considered keeping it secret before forcing this meeting. Not the Long Memory itself because it was his weapon and blatantly obvious, no he meant his identity as being from the future and being another incarnation of Oz. He had worried what Ozpin might be willing to do to keep his secrets if he knew that Oscar had all the information he had and could tell others he might not like knowing, but Oscar decided to believe in Ozpin instead.

The nature of trust, Qrow letting go of Ruby on the snowy cliffs. Belief despite doubt. Trust. How could Ozpin trust Oscar if Oscar wasn’t willing to do the same?

Oscar felt affected by Ozpin’s lies and actions (or maybe _in_ action), but he did understand them even if he didn’t like them, and at the end of the day, Ozpin refused to give into Salem. He was scared, like they all were, and he hadn’t made the best decisions, also just like everyone else. It was a lot easier in hindsight to tell somewhere where they went wrong than to keep moving forward and deal with the aftermath regardless.

Ozpin still hadn’t given up on humanity. He had doubt, but he believed in a future with hope and unity in it. He believed in a humanity that contained a misguided few but who would do good if given the choice. That mattered. It had to matter. And even if it didn’t matter, then it mattered to _him._

And he really _did_ believe in choice. Most of the time, anyway. Even though he was sure it had saved his life, he still felt almost violated having control of his body wrenched away from him in the fight against Hazel. But _this_ Ozpin hadn’t done that. Hopefully, this Ozpin never would.

His lies and half-truths came from a place of good despite all the damage it had caused. Making mistakes didn’t take away from trying to do good. Good, Oscar was beginning to think, wasn’t a thing you _were,_ it was a thing you _did_. It was never too late to choose to do good.

If Blake could choose to do good after her history with the extremist part of the White Fang, then so could Ozpin. If Maria, after a lifetime of avoiding having anything to do with being a Huntress, could choose to do good at her age then so could Ozpin. If Ruby, who had lied to Ironwood (which had hurt Oscar in a way that he didn’t really understand) could decide she’d made a mistake and choose to rectify it and keep doing good, then so could Ozpin.

That’s what Oscar has decided was important.

He had pushed Ozpin away at the first moment disregarding his own intent to broker trust because he’d been so overwhelmed by the past and his emotions. But he needed to work together with Ozpin. Dividing the two of them would fall right into Salem’s hands. 

Trust, forgiveness, and facing fear was the only way they could reunite the world. Staying angry would only make him feel small and separate, moving on would help them _both_ grow. If Oscar wanted Ozpin to trust him, then he needed to believe in the parts of Ozpin he knew operated from that place of good. 

Wordlessly, Ozpin continues to inspect the cane, the sharp, icy atmosphere from before dissolving almost without a trace. He turns it over and over in his hands, a look of intrigue and deep contemplation on his face.

“You probably know a lot more about its mechanics than me…” Oscar mumbles during the headmaster’s reverie.

Ozpin runs a careful hand on the crescent-moon shaped stained glass addition Oscar made over the clockwork guts and unwinds the green leather that he’d wrapped around the hilt to get a look at the original craftsmanship underneath.

Oscar sips at his green tea while Ozpin continues runs his hands over it checking every familiar grip and shape, transfixed and fascinated.

“This really is…” he breathes incredulously before pressing the handle to extend the shaft.

He compares the two weapons side by side practically enchanted.

“I had thought maybe it was a faithful replica… The glass?” he asks.

“Any changes I made are superficial. I don’t really understand how it works yet and I didn’t want, um, people mistaking me for you. So I did the best I could.”

Ozpin is silent for far longer than Oscar expects and to his surprise finds that the headmaster has closed his eyes while holding it, as if concentrating. It strikes Oscar what exactly he was testing only a moment before he hears the shift of gears and sees a soft glow emanate from the Long Memory.

Ozpin opens his eyes with wonder.

“How is this possible?”

“Time travel, I think?”

Saying it out loud made him feel so _ridiculous_ …

“Is that your Semblance?”

…But Ozpin took it seriously. He didn’t laugh or joke, he _believed him._

“What? No, I haven’t unlocked that yet. To be honest, I was hoping you might know something about all…,” Oscar gestures vaguely, with a touch of frustration. “ _this._ ”

“Hm… then that must mean… you really are another…” Ozpin interrupts himself, “—and a future one at that. If I die in the future, then… am I…?”

“Uh, no. You’re… gone. I’m not sure what happened. Maybe two of you can’t exist in the same place? Even though by technicality there already are two of us…”

Oscar thinks seriously about that for a moment but is interrupted when Ozpin hands his weapon back.

“For confirmation,” Ozpin says, taking his mug back into his hands, drawing it near his lips. “I am a combination of countless men dedicated to a single goal, an identity which for the sake of simplicity we’ll call ‘Oz.’ But you… are also Oz.”

“Yeaaap. Looks that way. Though I’m not comfortable being called that yet.”

“Salem?”

“Unkillable.”

“Our first name?”

“…Ozma.”

“…Qrow and Raven?”

“I still don’t get why you turned them into birds and not something else.”

“I should think that would be apparent.”

Ah, Ozpin’s dry humor. It was strange how he’d missed it.

Ozpin places his mug to the side, leans forward, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, staring straight at Oscar. After a brief moment of that, he reaches out almost impatiently, although somewhat uncertainly, and touches Oscar on the head, accidentally brushing against the tiny scar Rhys had given him.

“You are… quite real,” Ozpin tells him as much as himself.

“Y… es?”

“Marvelous.”

Then, very much like he got his bearings in a world that was once before unfamiliar to him, he scoops the cocoa mug back up and takes a sip.

“What was your advice?”

“Huh?”

“You said you came here to convince me to fight and to give me advice. So what’s the advice?”

“Right, that.

Oscar looks Ozpin sharply in the eye. 

“Leonardo Lionheart has betrayed you.”

Ozpin takes another sip of hot chocolate and Oscar didn’t even need for him to ask him to elaborate. It was one of the clearer expressions that’s crossed Ozpin’s face this entire encounter.

“…When was the last time you heard from Haven?” Oscar pressed. “Why have so many huntsman in Mistral been crossed off or reported missing?”

Ozpin makes a gesture as if to urge him to continue.

“Lionheart sits on the Mistral council. With his information it would be easy to track down and cross off huntsmen. Which is exactly what is happening now. A serial killer named Tyrian Callows and… umm,” Oscar attempts to hide his sudden discomfort trying not to make a face, “a man you’re familiar with named Hazel Rainart have been taking them out. They work for Salem. And Lionheart has given them a list.”

For the second time during this encounter, Ozpin’s knuckles once again go white as he clutches his mug.

“That’s grave news. It will have to be verified, but if true that’s…”

 _“Unforgivable,”_ they both say at the same time.

“One last thing,” Oscar adds. “The, uh, advice part of my advice.”

Ozpin raises an eyebrow as if to tell him to get on with it. Although he seemed a lot more eager and the atmosphere felt like one of pleasant excitement, Ozpin was still Ozpin, reserved and aloof. 

“You have three exchange students coming from Haven that aren’t exchange students at all. They’re Salem’s agents. You should let them come.”

“…You don’t want Lionheart to suspect I’m aware of the subterfuge and you want to lay a trap for them.”

“That’s exactly it. It would give us time to do something about the huntsmen in Mistral and the movements of Salem’s agents could be monitored so we can stop Beacon from falling.”

Ozpin gives a thin smile, but it did not look mirthful.

He leans back on his hands.

“You don’t know precisely what happened?”

“No. And neither did you, I think. Everyone I traveled with were… survivors. They didn’t want to talk about it and I… wouldn’t press.”

Well, at least not after he went off on Ruby that one time in the dojo which he had immediately regretted the moment after he’d asked.

“What can you tell me then?”

So Oscar told him what he knew about the Fall of Beacon. That three “students” infiltrated Beacon to cause discord among the Vytal Festival and rally negativity up to a fever pitch drawing in an unstoppable force of Grimm, that General Ironwood’s Knights were turned against them all, that Beacon was the center of a massacre that would affect the entirety of Vale. He told the names of the students and what they looked like, his suspicions about Watts hacking Atlesian technology, and White Fang letting Grimm into the school.

What he didn’t tell Ozpin were the players from their side, of team RWBY or JNPR. He felt they were owed their privacy. It would probably become apparent to Ozpin who might be drawn into the war over time, but Oscar felt he also owed it to his friends to be able to give them a choice this time around. He hoped they joined him, because he felt so lonely without them even when standing beside them here in this timeline, but they deserved to have all the facts this time before they made their choices and their sacrifices.

When he’s finished, Ozpin leans back on his hands and lets out a breath.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Oscar. I will—”

“No, Oz,” Oscar tells him firmly, eyes flashing, because he could already see where this was going just from those eleven words. He wasn’t going to be shut out of their decisions or any plans to be made. He’d gotten the flashes of emotions and concern over his age and inexperience when they had first been paired so he _got it_ , but he was in this too, so they had to do this together. “ _We_.”

Then he doubles back and corrects himself.

“I-I mean, Professor Ozpin.”

“It’s… alright,” Ozpin says, somewhat taken aback, “You can call me Oz. It’s clear that’s what you were used to before. I had thought at first that you simply weren’t used to formality, but now…”

Oscar interrupts abruptly again. He recognized a change of subject when he heard one.

“Have you always imagined, standing there at the end of it all, facing Salem alone?”

The stricken and guilty look on Ozpin’s face gave Oscar all the answers he needed although it had been a rhetorical question anyway. Oscar had already known. Ozpin lowers his head, hiding his eyes, appearing as though he was simply distracted by the mug in his hands, but Oscar knew better.

“Because it’s not about you,” Oscar continues passionately. “I mean, it’s not about _us_. The God of Light gave us a task to do: unite all of humanity. If we’re at all going to do that, then we can’t make it about us. It’s not about Salem, it’s not about us, it’s about humanity. We have to do this together. Salem can’t be killed, but we _have_ to defeat her if we have any chance at uniting the world. There are far too many precious things to protect in this world to let it be destroyed. And I know I’m not much. I’m not very strong or smart and I haven’t even unlocked my Semblance yet, but if there is one thing I know I excel at more than anything else it’s that I am going to _try_.”

Ozpin is quiet for a very long time, but when he finally raises his face the expression there is so very _soft._

“You are _more_ than enough, Oscar.”

The response is quiet, shaky, barely a whisper and Oscar feels his heart tremble. He takes a sip of tea to do something with his hands, give him anything else to focus on other than that soft, soft face.

“I had thought,” Ozpin started slowly, staring back down into his mug as if it were a black abyss that would swallow him, “that perhaps this would be a time of peace. There hadn’t been major activity from Salem’s forces for some time and there are periods where she too needs time and space to breathe—she started out human, after all. I expect I was hoping the students I have trained with fondness during this lifetime would not see war.”

Oscar’s shoulders drop, suddenly feeling heavy with an empathetic grief as a conversation sears through his head.

_“Do you honestly believe your children can win a war?”_

_“…I hope they never have to.”_

Oscar wasn’t certain but he did some small calculations and came to the conclusion that the Oz prior to Ozpin had probably been the warrior king he sometimes heard echoes of in his head and soul. If Oscar was closest in living through and experiencing Ozpin’s memories, then _his_ memories must center around… the Great War.

A war so great and terrible it had changed the cultures of not just one kingdom, but all of them, a horror with ripples that could be felt even to this day.

 _Of course_ he would want to avoid war at all costs. He’s already seen its horrors and what it does to people.

Oscar bows his head, eyes cast downward, and says, “I’m sorry.”

“You do not need to apologize, Oscar. Please, lift your head.”

He looks up.

“This,” he murmurs, “would all be hard to believe without proof, but even before tonight I suspected this might somehow be the case although at the time I had written it off as wild conjecture. In the spirit of honesty between us, I’ll admit to you that I’ve had dreams, _memories_ , that I think belong to you.”

“What!”

“You… spoke with James in the Atlas vault, and you… stole… an Atlas airship…”

“…In my defense, it wasn’t my idea.”

There’s an unexpected chuckle from the headmaster.

Oscar squirms a little bit.

“Um… what… happened in the memory of the vault you saw?”

Ozpin watches him with a carefully composed expression, an almost lazy smile curling on his lips.

“You were in there with James more than once?”

It sounds like an innocent question but it’s not. Ozpin was an analytical man and although Oscar knew he held great compassion for others and his relationships with them even if he hid it—his heartbreak over Qrow’s harsh scorn and total rejection of their friendship and goals was real—Ozpin liked to get all the facts he could before he acted or made a judgement call. He could already tell that Ozpin wanted to dig in deeper and get more information about Oscar’s experiences… which Oscar didn’t think was necessarily bad because this was just the way Ozpin was, always calculating and keeping people at a careful distance, however he was still not yet ready to talk about getting shot off a ledge and falling miles below to the tundra by a giant dead-eyed man.

Oscar merely nods, not even realizing he’d unconsciously brought his hand up to touch his chest where the bullet hit him or that Ozpin’s sharp gaze had been drawn to this small, instinctive act, but then marshals the resolve to say, “The second time I was there it was… unsettling and I’m not prepared to talk about it right now. Sorry. It’s still… confusing.” 

“You’ve been through a lot.”

Oscar nods again. Ozpin appears sympathetic, understanding more than he let on, maybe, but then seems to let it go for now. He smiles at him openly and genuinely. 

“You have a good heart, Oscar. I’m proud of you.”

Oscar feels something in him break.

He freezes, looking down at his tea, feeling like… feeling a lot. He bites his lip, shoulders suddenly shaking. He hadn’t come here to be reassured about his experiences, but it felt _good_ to hear someone acknowledge them. He felt seen, as if the sheer weight of their collective history was crashing down on him but he was no longer trying to hold it up alone. Oscar realizes that it’s been so long since he’d been able to talk to anyone about what was really happening, to him or the world.

He’s not sure why this made tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He really didn’t. He wasn’t looking for validation, or recognition, or… or…

So… why?

He couldn’t talk to Dr. Ed about this, he was already too nosy and too astute and saw far too much. He couldn’t talk to Auntie Em, she’d only grow worried and want to protect him, even though there was no way to do so, not with a Wizard maybe-sleeping somewhere in his head and war imminent on the horizon. Marin wasn’t the listening type and Umber was a _child_.

But Ozpin knew what it was like. Understood the risks and dangers and gravity of their mutual circumstances. They had both inherited a legacy born from an ancient hero they hadn’t asked for.

He quickly dashes the tears away with his sleeve but finds they are just as quickly replaced by new ones. When his tears turn into wracking sobs, he buries his face in his hands because this was embarrassing and he didn’t know why he was crying. Before he had hidden his face he had seen Ozpin’s eyebrows shoot up and, if he didn’t know better, bore a look of quiet alarm.

This was not helping Oscar’s case to be seen more than just a fourteen-year-old boy who could help take down Salem and who had the acumen, wherewithal, and fortitude to be a true ally with equal ground.

When his entire body started quaking uncontrollably, he hears the sound of porcelain clack somewhere in the room and soon after was carefully drawn into an embrace. Ozpin’s hand rested lightly, almost hesitantly, on his back as if he wasn’t quite certain what to do. He’s not sure how long he’s held there in that loose, pacifying embrace, sobbing into Ozpin’s collar, clutching at his shirt, but by the time he calms down and they part his tea has gone cold.

Ozpin gently pressed a handkerchief into his hand and gave him the blessing of pretending he didn’t notice anything that had just happened.

When enough time passes and Oscar settles himself he apologizes, “Sorry. Can we just move on?”

Ozpin nods his head reluctantly, looking like he had more to say, but decides to hold his tongue and acquiesce to Oscar’s wish instead.

“There’s more that happens after Beacon, correct? Can you tell me about it?”

“Ah… sorry,” Oscar holds his hand up as if to say stop and then elaborates, “if we have a partnership, if we’re going to work together to prevent Beacon from falling and defeat Salem, I have one condition I need fulfilled before we go any further than this.”

“And that is?” the headmaster asks expectantly, looking more curious as to what Oscar could want over being put-off or defensive over a single condition.

“There’s a lot of people who love and trust you, Oz,” Oscar tells him slowly, thoughtfully, _deliberately._ He meaningfully searches his face, “Qrow, Ironwood, Glynda. And before we get any further into this, I want you to do them the honor of sitting down with them and telling them the truth. All of it.”

“I…” Ozpin searches for words, seemingly at a loss of them, before shortly closing his eyes and managing to avow, “…will consider it. In exchange there is something I’d like to ask—no. Nevermind. Perhaps tonight isn’t the time.”

Oscar tilts his head to the side, puzzled over what Ozpin had been about to say.

“Perhaps we should revisit this another day,” Ozpin suggests, noticing Oscar had long ago finished his tea. “It’s getting late, after all, and I wouldn’t want to take any more time away from your weekend.”

Oscar looks at the time, which wasn’t hard to do considering the window had a literal clockface on it. Ozpin was right. It _was_ getting late.

“Okay. We shall—” look at him, using fancy words, “—renegotiate more later.”

Oscar gets to his feet, offering his hand to Ozpin if he wanted a hand up. He still had no idea how old Ozpin actually was. Even for his calculations earlier he took a stab in the dark at what he thought was an approximate age. So he’s not sure if Ozpin was old and actually needed that cane to rely on because of bad joints or arthritis, or if he was young-ish and used it anyway. Everyone was still simultaneously both old and young to him anyway.

As if being able to tell what he was thinking, Ozpin chuckles good naturedly to himself and takes his hand.

They say their goodbyes.

“Take care on your way back to the dorms, Oscar.”

In the elevator, Oscar thinks he hears a, _“Thank you, Oscar,”_ but by that point the doors had already shut and there was no way he could have heard that.

It must have been his imagination again.

_Ruby dreams of falling snow. Kneeling, she reaches out with a bare hand and carefully brushes the snow from the buried headstone before her. In the distance, she hears thunder._

_Ruby shivers, then bows her head and murmurs her prayers._

_“Ruby.”_

_It was voice that came to her as if it were traveling through time, one she only half-remembered and belonged to her heart._

_She looks up and sees the smiling face of her mother. Summer Rose was standing at the edge of the cliffside, looking down at her from beneath her hood with pride and devotion, white cape fluttering in the wind._

_“Mom!”_

_Ruby runs to embrace her and she is held and cherished in loving arms._

_“Don’t look,” her mother whispers when Ruby tries to look past her upon feeling a rumbling in her ribcage, hearing the thunder in the distance once again._

_“Why?” Ruby asks, looking past anyway and knowing without seeing there is a pained expression on her mother’s face._

_On the horizon and over the sea, she sees a flying city engulfed in a storm, clouds as black as ink. Even from as far as she was standing on the cliffside, she could see the smoke and fire streaming like watercolors rolling across a canvas, gobbling up every blank spot left as it went._

_Her first instinct is to run to help._

_Her mother grabs her wrist to keep her from going, jerking her arm painfully back._

_“We have to help them! Someone could be hurt!”_

_“You can’t,” her mom says._

_Ruby breaks away from her grip, turning to face Summer._

_But it wasn’t Summer who was standing there anymore._

_A woman with bone white skin under which spindling dark veins ran with black ichor and red eyes stood there instead._

_“Aren’t you tired?” she says. There’s a sympathetic smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. Ruby can’t help but feel like an insect caught in a spider’s web. The woman’s face closes in on hers, growing more and more monstrous the closer she gets._

_And then the world bled silver._

Ruby woke in a cold sweat, shrieking ringing in her ears.

But it wasn’t her screaming.

The rest of RWBY was awake and moving as well.

“What’s all the noise?” Weiss demands, although her voice was filled with more sleep than fire.

“It’s coming from the hallway,” Blake was saying, pressing her back up against the wall with an ease of a secret commando warrior ninja and very carefully cracking their door open an inch to peer outside.

And outside, there was chaos.

The night is dark, the moon is bright, and the wind is warm.

Right when Oscar just about reaches the entrance to the dorms and while he’s still sorting through his feelings about his meeting with Ozpin—had he managed to convince Ozpin? Would he tell the others the truth? Would they be able to work together?—there is a burst of rose petals and Oscar nearly finds himself colliding with Ruby. She catches him by the elbows, stopping him from falling to the ground, and holds him while he regains his balance. Her face is drained entirely of color, her hair was messy, and her hands are covered in cold sweat.

“Oscar!” she exclaims breathlessly in surprise, bangs falling over her face.

“Ruby? What are you—?”

“Oscar it’s—it’s your team! You should hurry! I have to go get Professor Goodwitch!”

She then lets go of him and was gone in another swirling burst of red leaving behind nothing but rose petals falling between his fingers.

[In some extremely cool news, if you happened to want to read this fic in Russian, Koro.koba over on Instagram [has been translating it on Ficbook](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9369659?tab=1#tabContent). They're three chapters in already!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin: If you’re Oz and I’m Oz, then who is flying this plane?


	12. Fright Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. Sometimes the chapters only go through one or two edits, and sometimes they go through like 50 massive overhauls where I rewrite the whole thing from scratch. This was one of those chapters. Also, I'm getting busier and chapters will probably come out slower from now on.
> 
> I also apologize for the amount of spotlight on OCs in this one, but it will become apparent why I thought it was necessary later on in the fic. Please bear with me until then.

When they exit their dorm room, team RWBY felt like they were stepping into a nightmarish haze. There was a dark, suffocating air that seemed to saturate the hallway and Ruby felt cold. It was like she was still standing in her dream of timeless snow frozen darkly in place by a woman who held no warmth in her body or her soul, whose veins pulsed with black poison, and whose gaze saw through her like she was merely a _thing_. She’d woken up from that ruinous dream but the feeling of _wrong_ and _terror_ still remained, her heart pounding furiously against her chest. Team JNPR was there too, drowsily exiting their dorm as well and coming face-to-face with team NOIR, (or maybe NIR since despite how late it was, Oscar was absent), who were fighting with each other.

“Cease that this instant!” Alexander was crying out, cutting in between the two girls who had been yelling at each other with his own body, “We are teammates! We can discuss this in a calm and rational manner!”

They could all see that Rook’s left fox ear was torn almost in half and bleeding freely. She was arguing roughly with Lacey, trying to shove her. Alexander was playing unfortunate mediator between two parties who didn’t care who got in their way to fight with each other.

“How can she be a teammate or, you know, our _leader_ if she never tells us anything!” Lacey shoots back unexpectedly irate given her usual spacey demeanor and squaring up despite her petite form. She easily sidesteps Alexander and gets right into Rook’s personal space again.

Her body shook with anger.

Jaune, despite looking small and meek in his Pumpkin Pete pajamas, is the first to try to call out and reason with them.

“H-Hey, c’mon guys, that’s enough. It’s just the first week of school. We’re all getting used to each other and we have to learn to work tog—”

The chilling, heavy atmosphere continued to curl around them, like an invisible boa constrictor very slowly closing in on its prey, an inevitable, sinister gravity bearing violently down their spirits and their bones. However, this feeling wasn’t just a physical one. It was one dark wave after another, black electricity wracking mercilessly across the walls and their skin. It ran harmless across their skin, but it set their teeth on edge, drawing tension into their bodies like a sinkhole that drew in light.

“Isn’t yer Semblance _literally_ reading micro-expressions?” growls Rook, eyes wild and ignoring Jaune and shoving Alexander out of the way. “ _Move it,_ ‘Lex! Lace, how do you not _get it!_ You really that dense! _”_

“Just because I know _what_ someone is feeling doesn’t mean I know _why!_ You’ve been moody, distant, and downright snide all week, you know! _”_ Lacey shoots back, tears in her eyes, eyebrows practically clicking together with an audible sound. She was a person who couldn’t get angry or yell at others without crying despite every effort not to.

She balled her fists. 

They had all learned by now, that what Lacey meant by saying her Semblance was ‘User Interface’ was that her ability was informational. She unconsciously interpreted small behaviors, micro-expressions, and tone of voice into ‘information’ that she ‘saw.’ Which is how she knew (unbeknownst to everyone) Nora was in love with Ren, Jaune was keeping a secret, and something was up with Oscar and Professor Ozpin. Her mind processed and interpreted information at an alarming rate which is why she could draw the rapid conclusions and connections that she did.

(Or, at least, that’s how they understood it. Even those that played video games like Ruby, Yang, and Jaune weren’t sure how ‘User Interface’ worked in real time in someone’s head and not on a screen.)

However, as she’d said, it was mostly based on what she could _observe_ and it didn’t tell her what things _meant_. _That_ she had to do on her own with her own brain, and Lacey… well… to put it kindly, she could be a bit of an airhead. Weiss was certainly more snooty around her because of this, at least.

“Please, desist,” Alexander pleads, some of that rigid eccentricity draining out of him replaced by desperation. They can all see sweat on the back of his neck as he pushes his way back in between the girls. “You two are causing a scene and disturbing our classmates. We can talk this over!”

Undeterred, Lacey easily slips by Alexander and angrily grabs Rook by the front of her t-shirt. In spite of this, Rook easily tears herself out of her grip by hammering the sharp point of her elbow between Lacey’s arms, breaking their hold. Lacey squeaks in surprise.

Jaune and Yang try to intervene then, flanking Rook on either side, but the faunus girl is faster.

In a powerful rage, she goes on to grab the smaller girl by the hair, who gives a helpless yelp, and slams her face into the walls of the corridor with such ruthless force she left behind cracks in the drywall. Alexander goes to pull Rook off of Lacey. As he had does this, once his hand touches her shoulder, she turns breathlessly to face him and lets off an unsurmountable shroud of dark static that rings in their ears that is so overwhelming, Alexander’s breath hitches, clutches his chest, and passes out. He collapses hard on the floor with finality, unmoving. Then, as if realizing what happened, Rook lets go with an almost haunted expression and Lacey slides unceremoniously to the floor, clutching her head and staring at Alexander.

Blake’s eyes go wide. Weiss’ hands go over her mouth, appalled. Ruby is beside Lacey not a second later.

“Lacey? Lacey, are you okay?” she calls, “Can you hear me? It’s Ruby.”

“—n’t mmn tz,” Lacey mumbles incoherently in response. She barely seemed conscious. It seemed she hadn’t activated her aura throughout the whole confrontation. Ruby had only known her classmates for a week so she wasn’t certain how good Lacey’s aura control was, or how skilled she was in taking a hit. For someone who didn’t have their aura activated, or who had weak control over it, the blow Lacey just received could be severe without intervention.

“Let me look at her,” Ren says urgently, taking charge of Lacey’s care. He’d crouched down beside Lacey just moments after Ruby had. “You should get Professor Goodwitch and tell her what happened. You’re the fastest one here.”

Ruby gives a fierce nod.

“I’m counting on you,” she tells Ren. 

Then she was gone in a swirling red burst.

Even Rook looked like she was in shock, staring at her hands as if they had betrayed her, as if they had turned into snakes or hot flame right before her. She wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, horror and shame crossing her features. 

“…I… d-din’t think… she shouldn’t h—hhhhh…”

She was shaking.

Nora was the one who crouched down beside Alexander, checking to see if he was alright, her expression grave and quiet, her sea green eyes usually full of dance and laughter were dark and focused instead. She knelt closely toward the fallen teenager, her mouth turning a grim line. She reached for his wrist. 

There’s a loathsome feeling percolating within the air that made them all shaky and sick, like every fiber in their bodies, from blood cell to fingernail were a mass of violent, vibrating nerves. If this feeling could be collected, the walls would be slick with ghoulish condensation. Blake bites the inside of her cheek, possessed of an uneasy feeling she knew all too well after having witnessed what she just did. Her stomach turned.

All of them in the hallway understood that whatever these feelings of oppression and fear were, they were coming from Rook. It had to be her Semblance. Somehow.

“What happened?” said an out-of-breath Oscar who had suddenly appeared from the stairwell. He was still dressed in his combat gear despite the late hour and his eyes looked a little red and puffy around the edges like he’d been crying.

He spots his teammate on the floor.

“…Lacey? What’s wrong?”

“Rook slammed her head into the wall,” Ren told him clinically, concentrating on looking for signs of concussion, turning Lacey’s head so he could check her eyes for dilation. She was conscious and trying to hold her head with both hands, eyes squinting like she had a headache or the hallway was too bright.

“tzz mnnt …” Lacy slurs, confiding something incomprehensible to Ren, sounding drowsy and confused.

“She has a concussion.” Ren tells the group with measured conviction as if he’d seen this before. He then looks up at Jaune. “We should get her to the medical wing.”

Jaune doesn’t question his teammate. Without hesitation, Jaune gives a sharp nod, “Right.”

The two of them lift Lacy up by each shoulder and help walk her out. Carrying her rapidly might only jostle her and cause more damage, this way she could move at her own pace.

“Hey,” Jaune was telling her softly as they went, “You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’ll get you through this.”

He continued to murmur kind encouragement as they went.

“Rook?”

Pyrrha calls out Rook’s name. The faunus girl lifts her head and for a split second their eyes meet. Pyrrha feels an unpleasant, but not unfamiliar feeling in her chest. A jolt of fear. She hears Oscar step beside her as he lets out a quiet, shaken breath, which broke Rook’s gaze from hers.

Pyrrha thinks she sees heartbreak cross Rook’s features. Devastation, self-loathing, despair. She’d just seriously hurt her teammate in a sharp escalation of anger, everyone had seen her, and now the youngest member of her team knew what happened too. Rook didn’t let most people get close to her, but Pyrrha knew she felt close to Oscar. She never strayed far from him when they were in public together, like she was watching over him, or maybe he was a kind of protection charm for her.

Seemingly overcome, biting her trembling lip, Rook turns away from them in shame, buries her face in her hands, and sinks to the floor. The feeling of darkness and despair in the hallway only increases. Pyrrha’s stomach revolts. Her hands were sweating, legs jelly. 

“Rook…” Oscar murmurs, taking a step closer towards her. _He_ looked alarmed, but he didn’t look as scared as Pyrrha felt.

“Go ‘way!” Rook yells, another surge of darkness materializing. 

Definitely her Semblance.

Pyrrha had asked Oscar before during the week if he knew what his partner’s Semblance was and he’d responded with, “Mmn, I think so, but it’s not my place to tell. Besides, I think everyone will figure it out eventually.”

 _Fear_ , Pyrrha thought, identifying the feeling in her chest, _or maybe intense negativity._ No wonder she kept to herself. A Semblance like that, let alone one that was passive with an immediate localized area of effect which she very obviously couldn’t _control_ , would drive a lot of people away from her. If she couldn’t control her Semblance and she’d grown up outside the kingdoms with her family or a group where Grimm could easily track them down then…

Well, that was sad. It sounded lonely, the kind of ostracization Rook must have experienced once people learned what her power was.

Pyrrha looks around, to Yang and Weiss, Nora, Blake, Oscar, she looks into their eyes. None of them were budging. They weren’t backing down.

This was Beacon. They were the Huntsmen and Huntresses of the future. Who were they if they turned away from this? The repeated waves of fear and negativity almost felt physical; but despite her celebrity Pyrrha didn’t aspire to be a Huntress for glory, it was because she wanted to help people no matter what it took. And, Pyrrha knew, so did the others who stood with her here in this hallway. Rook was practically spewing fear and although it was a very _physical_ experience, none of them have turned away.

Oscar must have figured that out already which is also why he’d said it wasn’t his place to tell.

The way toward safety and peace wasn’t always the subjugation of monsters, it was also extending a hand to those who needed it. Sometimes the smallest action could have immeasurable results.

Rook was scary now, dark electricity crackling over her skin, but she was also in pain. She couldn’t stand by doing nothing. It was clear to her that Rook had been turned away, abandoned, or demonized for ability before and expected the same of all of them.

She took one shaky step and then another.

She crouches down next to Rook and puts a hand on her shoulder. Rook visibly shudders.

Rook hurt her teammate, that much was true, and whether or not this was a forgivable offense was entirely in Lacey’s hands, but even if that couldn’t be excused, there was place—at least in Pyrrha’s heart—to grow and be forgiven.

“We’re not going anywhere,” she tells her.

As if to illustrate this point, Oscar sits down by Rook’s other side and gives a small affirmation of agreement, also placing his hand on her back.

“I’m still here,” he tells her, voice soft and hushed. Oscar could be incredibly gentle with people no matter who they were. Pyrrha thought that was why so many people on campus seemed to like him upon first meeting.

“What kind of people would we be if we left you here like this?” Yang asks, putting her hands on her hips in the same manner as if it had been implied she wasn’t fit for the job of taking down a Grimm.

Like the others, Yang had to be affected by the sickening constriction of the air around them, but she was still there. They all were, Pyrrha observed. They were here because they wanted to be Huntsmen and Huntresses, because they all wanted to bring a little good into the world, because they had to try to help anyone in front of them if they were able. They were all here because they were willing to stand up to darkness and bring with them light.

Fear meant something different to all of them.

To Pyrrha, fear meant failing the people closest to her, letting her friends and family down, being unable to live up to the expectations everyone placed on her as high as they were.

To Nora, fear meant never knowing when her next meal would be, of losing Ren, of losing everything she had when she had so _little_.

To Yang, fear was being abandoned, of yet another person disappearing from her life, of Ruby torn away from her by the Grimm; fear was powerlessness.

To Weiss, though she would never say so aloud, she feared her father, she feared loneliness, she feared her empty, lifeless house and the thought of not being good enough as heiress or daughter.

To Blake, fear started with intimacy, with trust: friends, lovers, team mates and ended in moral attrition, self-delusion, and self-hate. Her fear was this exact situation, someone trusted who turned on their own.

Pyrrha couldn’t personally know all their fears specifically, but she knew they held those fears close to hearts, braving them when it would be easier to give up. They were all afraid of something, but they were still here. Rook didn’t scare them.

And sometimes, people who hurt other people, were hurting themselves. Not an excuse, nothing excused pain, but there was no breaking the cycle of hurt if you were unwilling to say _“No. Today, I heal. Today, I help. Today, I put myself aside and shoulder the pain of others.”_ There was no point in being a Huntress if you could only feel hate and anger and a desire to hurt others as they’ve hurt you. That wasn’t what a Huntress _was_.

Grimm are the darkness, but they… they are supposed to be the _light_.

“Alexander’s okay,” Nora announces, “just knocked out.”

Rook shudders in such great relief, Pyrrha thought she might have been afraid he’d _died_ from the fright she gave off.

Pyrrha pulls Rook into her embrace and holds her until the shaking and the waves of fear stop.

When Rook calmed down, she told them what happened. What sparked the incident was that Lacey had come back late, saw Rook listening to music while working on reading assignments and had thoughtlessly grabbed her ear to get her attention when calling her name didn’t work. She’d wanted to chat and get to know Rook better. Because she was so engrossed in reading, Rook had been unaware of her presence, so when Lacey grabbed her ear, she spooked Rook so badly she jumped to her feet and shoved Lacey without registering what was going on. However, Lacey had been surprised herself and on instinct had gripped hard on the ear in response, which had torn it when Rook shoved her.

After which, Rook started yelling at her for her egregious manner and Lacey argued back, feeling cornered and not understanding Rook’s position. She was deeply sorry about the ear but didn’t seem to understand that Rook’s true anger lie with Lacey grabbing her ear in the first place. Rook wanted to be sure she understood. Alexander tried to mediate, Lacey went out into the hall to cool down and stop from crying under pressure. Rook followed her and the fight got even more heated and emotional after that. Rook’s Semblance had activated at some point, and as tensions rose higher, so did the sense of fear between the entire team. Alexander passed out under the pressure. As for Lacey and Rook, under fight or flight, they were both fighters and were too rapidly stressed to recognize what was going on.

They fought.

From what Pyrrha and the others could guess, (not even Rook knew the full extent or nature of her ability, apparently) the thing about Rook’s Semblance was she could make people feel afraid, but she couldn’t make them afraid _of_ something. Pure physiology, no psychology. It wasn’t like using a circuit to route electricity, instead it was like being struck by lightning, bypassing cause or reason entirely. It triggered the fight or flight response and prolonged exposure to wave after wave of untainted physiological fear would take a toll on anyone’s mind and body.

Bad enough as that was, the longer she used it the more of an effect it had on _herself_. Especially when she didn’t realize when her Semblance had activated such as in the heat of battle or in an argument. Since acquiring her power, Rook had never been around very many people for long to understand how it worked.

After Rook had finally calmed down, Pyrrha and Yang carried Alexander to his bed in his dorm while Yang instructed Oscar about the first aid kit in their bathroom, because there was no way aura was going to heal a tear like that in Rook’s ear without traditional intervention. Oscar had held out his hand for her to take and help her up.

Later, when Ruby finally returned, Oscar was treating the tear on Rook’s ear in the bathroom. Yang had offered the space and said they had a pretty comprehensive first aid kit, courtesy of Weiss and her interest in being meticulously prepared, and Oscar said he had experience patching up ears like this. (He meant sheep and goats, mostly, but he hadn’t said this aloud because he wasn’t sure Rook would want to be compared to farm animals that got rowdy sometimes and tore their ears.)

“This is going to sting a lot,” she heard Oscar saying when she closed the dorm room’s door.

And then.

“…Din’t mean to hurt her.”

“Too late for that,” Weiss comments archly from inside the room. “She has a concussion.”

“Weiss!” Ruby scolds. “Not helping!”

“What?” Weiss asks, flapping a hand indignantly, “it’s true.”

“That’s not it,” Ruby responds.

“It’s about _how_ you say things, Weiss” Yang joins in.

Blake’s silence on the issue spoke volumes. She was upset and disturbed. 

Oscar closes the bathroom door after that exchange, a complicated expression on his face.

When Rook’s ear is all patched up and the bathroom is vacated, Yang addresses Rook.

“You can stay here tonight if you want, Rook.”

Her words are as casual as they would be if she were inviting a close friend to a party or to hang out.

“Ha?”

“I mean, it’s a little difficult to go back right now, isn’t it?” Yang explained, making a vague hand gesture in the air with her eyes glancing at the corner of the room as if in memory before returning to Rook’s face. “I know I’ve gotten into arguments before where I lost my temper and said and did things I regret and I didn’t want to be around anyone I fought with for a while. Sooo… you can stay here.”

“Hey!” Weiss protests, “Don’t just go deciding that by yourself. This is _our_ room!”

“You won’t let her stay?” Ruby asks, looking sad and pitiful.

Weiss huffs, giving in almost instantly, “No, she can stay. _How-e-ver_ , in the future I expect for us to all agree on guest arrangements _before_ staying over.”

“…Thanks,” Rook says, uncharacteristically meek, staring at the ground.

“I’ll get going then,” Oscar says.

“Wait!” Ruby cries out. “Lemme go with you. I want to see how Lacey and Alexander are too.”

“In your pajamas?”

“I can change!” Ruby says with embarrassed indignation, but there was no fire in it.

When Oscar leaves the room, he finds Glynda Goodwitch just exiting from his own dorm room, presumably having just checked up on Alexander. Both Jaune and Ren had returned after taking Lacey to the medical wing to watch over him, apparently. 

“Ah,” Oscar says in quiet surprise and almost instinctually shutting the door behind him.

“Mr. Pine,” she says, “I just finished speaking with Team JNPR about the incident tonight and I would like to speak to you, Team RWBY, and Miss Noir in turn.”

Oscar felt an acute panic.

“She can’t control her Semblance yet,” Oscar blurts out. “I know it caused a lot of trouble and it makes people uncomfortable, but she can’t be punished for that!”

Glynda’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but then she lets out a small, acquiescing sigh.

“Mr. Pine, if we punished students for the nature of their gifts because it made others uncomfortable, then we could hardly be worthy of the educational accreditation this school has received.”

Oscar pauses, not entirely certain what she was getting at.

Glynda’s gaze softened.

“Oscar,” she says, switching to his first name, making their conversation feel much more _personal_ , “we are a _school_ dedicated to the honing and mastering of combat, aura, and Semblance to train Huntsmen and Huntresses to one day protect the people of this world. We don’t expect mastery from the first day and there are some who graduate without ever having full control of their talents. No, Rook will not be punished because of her Semblance, but she must be judged on her _actions_. Do you understand?”

Oscar gives a tentative nod. 

It was then Ruby exited her room and then dutifully closed the door. Then she noticed Oscar and Glynda.

“Ah! Professor Goodwitch!” she exclaims. There’s a pause and then Ruby goes on to say, “Please, you can’t blame her for her S—!”

Glynda holds up a hand to stop Ruby from going any further.

“ _Yes,”_ she interrupts almost impatiently. “As I was just telling Mr. Pine, please believe me when I say we do not punish students for losing control of their Semblances. As teachers, we recognize that every student is still growing and learning. To limit a student’s capacity to do those things by punishing them for an innate part of themselves is nothing but an exercise in folly and breeds narrow-mindedness. _However_ —”

“—She still slammed Lacey’s head in the wall and, like Weiss said, gave her a concussion,” Oscar explains to Ruby, accidentally interrupting Glynda. The headmistress nods sharply.

 _“Oh,”_ Ruby responds in a small voice. “Yeah… that’s right…”

But Ruby continues to barrel forward.

“What about Lacey? Is she alright? Alexander? We wanted to see them.”

Glynda looks at them like there was a headache brewing somewhere in her head.

“Mr. Regent is sound asleep just next door. He does not appear to have any lasting injury. As for Miss Iris, she is under observation in the medical wing, but we believe she will recover. At this time, we are not allowing visitors. It’s late, you two, if you’re going somewhere then don’t go far, I still need to do your interviews too. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Glynda pushes past them to Team RWBY’s dorm room.

Oscar and Ruby stand there in the hallway together. Ruby scuffs a foot.

“Well, what do we do now…? I got dressed for nothing…”

“I… dunno.”

“Hmm,” Ruby thinks to herself for a moment before an idea springs to mind and she grabs Oscar’s hand. “I’ve got an idea, c’mon!”

“Wh—Ruby?”

“I said c’mon, slowpoke!”

Poked and prodded by Ruby, Oscar is dragged along.

Ruby’s idea as it turned out was just a nighttime walk.

“It’s a patrol!” she corrects Oscar admonishingly.

“Right, yeah, okay.”

Her reasoning was this: Rook’s Semblance causes fear and negative emotions. Fear and negative emotions attract Grimm. Maybe Grimm were on the edges of Beacon and they didn’t even know it? Therefore: they should patrol.

Oscar held his tongue about there probably people who did that already. The night was pleasant, warm breeze on his skin after all the stressful events of the day, and Ruby by his side.

Eventually, they end up sitting on the stairs of the courtyard where Oscar had first talked to Ozpin in person and watching the very same moon Oscar had seen from the top of Beacon tower only an hour or so before. Oscar on the top step, hands clasped together in his lap. Ruby sits beside him, a bright presence in the dark night.

Ruby’s the first to break the comfortable silence that had fallen between them while they watched stars.

“Thanks for the advice the other day. It really helped me out.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“Mmn…” she appears to think about this for exactly five seconds before she then adds, straightforwardly and without any hint of holding back, “Nope! You did. I won’t forget it.”

She smiles at him.

Suddenly and inexplicably, all the stress of the day, no, all the stress of the _week_ that Oscar had been carrying melted away. He still had his worries but being with Ruby made him feel like he was home in a way that had nothing to do with the farm he was raised on. She was a familiar star in a night sky gleaming with constellations he couldn’t name. There was just something about the way Ruby smiled and interacted with the world around her that felt special. She brought a light with her wherever she went and especially in darkness. She was moon and stars, steel and silver, undying hope, courage without peer, and deliberate kindness.

He can’t help but smile back at her wholeheartedly and without reservation.

He was so relieved he’d found his way back to her side. Everything he’d gone through up until now had carried him ceaselessly forward so he could see her again, like the continuous, inevitable cycle of sun and moon. He would confront Ironwood, travel back in time, fight Rhys again and more if it brought him back to Ruby.

It was so _strange_ being here, it was _strange_ seeing Past-Ruby, Past-Everyone, his head spun if he thought about it too hard, but what wasn’t strange was the comfort he felt knowing that, this time, he could help them. He could help stop the fall. They wouldn’t have to carry those future sorrows. 

Ruby kicks her legs out from where she sits on the steps.

“I hope your team will be okay…” Ruby murmurs, a touch of mournful inflection creeping into her voice.

Oscar’s spirits drop as suddenly as they had been lifted. He lowers his gaze miserably to the ground.

“Yeah, me too… I should have been there…”

Ruby is silent for a moment watching him with careful purpose, and then, with unknown urgency, reaches over to place her hand atop his.

“You were there when it mattered,” she tells him, staring straight into his eyes when he looked up in surprise. “You can’t always be there when people need you, but what you _can_ do is try. That’s all anyone can do and that’s what’s important.” 

She smiles at him again, reassurance in her gaze.

Oscar found he couldn’t look directly at her for very long. Somehow it felt embarrassing. He couldn’t control the expression on his face and he felt a little flushed.

“I mean it,” she insists, squeezing his hand, misinterpreting his reaction. “You were talking about leadership at the time, but weren’t you the one who said that someone who didn’t worry about being good to their team and didn’t care about protecting the people around them wasn’t much of a leader at all? In this case, I think that applies to teammates, too, don’t you think? And I know you’re going to get up tomorrow and be there for all of them as much as you can. That’s who you are. I can tell.”

Oscar smiles shyly at the ground before he meets her gaze again. He gives a small nod of acknowledgement. That _is_ exactly what he’d been planning to do once he rose from bed tomorrow: seeing what he could do for his new team.

It was incredibly strange to consider that he had his _own_ team now, that he was no longer an aberrant stranger who had wandered into the midst of a war almost as old as time, that he was at Beacon before it all began and none of the others knew what was coming, but if he was too busy focusing on the future then he was doing a disservice to the people he had around him _now_. What was the point of saving the future if you sacrificed the present? Alexander, Lacey, and Rook, like team RWBY and JNPR, were _also_ people who made mistakes, became miserable, felt depressed and helpless at times too, and needed support as all people do. They were a part of Beacon too, and they would be here if it fell. Maybe they had even been students who had fallen in the chaos themselves.

They weren’t people he could abandon. The people of this present deserved better than what happened.

Ruby smiles again before hastily pulling her hand away like she just realized she’d been holding his for too long and looking just a bit flustered.

“Actually, I’m kind of glad this all happened. Not that, you know, I’m glad your teammates were fighting just that—uh, well, I was having a bad dream.”

“A nightmare?”

“Yeah. My mom was in it.”

“Oh...” 

“I don’t remember much about her,” Ruby explains, “I was very young when she died.”

“I’m… sorry.”

Oscar knew this, but it was too weird, and inappropriate to tell her right now.

“Mmn, no, it’s okay,” Ruby assures him, her eyes gentle. “It’s sad, and it’s still sad, but I know she wouldn’t want me to grieve forever, even if I do miss her. She’d want me to keep going and do the best I can.”

Oscar is quiet, but he smiles down at his clasped hands. Classic Ruby, even in the past.

Ruby opened her mouth looking like she was about to continue to tell him about her nightmare, or at least the nightmare part of her nightmare, but then came to a sudden alarming realization.

“—Oh! We should get back. Professor Goodwitch said she wanted to talk to us, too, right?” She nudges his shoulder with hers playfully. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Then there he was, getting dragged back once again by an abrupt, urgent Ruby; and somewhere between the shadow and the soul, Oscar’s heart felt light and warm.

As it turned out, Ruby made the right call. Glynda was terribly vexed they made her wait.

[A few doodles this time:

[Rosegarden doodle!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/618866324625653760/nerds-3)

[Rosegarden doodle GLOMP!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/619128849706434560/please-volume-8-i-have-one-wish)

[RWBY and her beloved Crescent Rose](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/619851441423728640/were-all-in-this-together-and-were-all-going)

[I Just Love Ruby A Lot ](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/620563135759351809/yells-forever-listennnnnnnn-listen-i-love-ruby)

I hope you enjoy them!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rook & Lacey: oh no, the consequences of our actions!
> 
> I’m not sure why, but I’ve always wondered about what Beacon’s response would be to bad blood between a team. RWBY’s team were able to work out their troubles without much outside influence, but what if you had a team whose disputes had to be handled by administration? I don’t think our boy Ozpin would really make someone stick together with someone for four whole years if someone was getting hurt as a result of that pairing (such as something like a Cardin-Velvet situation). And while it’s not going to happen in this case, there have got to be other cases where a teammate has been expelled or made to switch teams if the issue is bad enough. 
> 
> Additionally, I doubt this is the first time any of the schools has had to deal with students with out-of-control passive Semblances, key example: Qrow. Nor would it be the first time I think they would have dealt with a Semblance that seems like you can only use it with bad intentions. Just-my-shower-thoughts.jpg. Thanks for allowing me to indulge in my curiosity. 
> 
> Stay safe out there. Help, protect, and encourage those around you. Be that light in the darkness. No kindness is too small. We can all make it through this together.


	13. Counterproposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, getting this chapter finished was certainly a journey and a half.
> 
> In this chapter, Ozpin eavesdrops like an old pro and has a lotta bad feels.
> 
> Also mentions of alcoholism in the last segment of this chapter if that’s anything you need to watch out for.

Professor Ozpin was troubled. He remains that night in his office long after Oscar leaves, watching the growing shadows below in the courtyard as the moon rose higher. From the crease in his brow and the faraway look in his eyes, it would be obvious to even the most impercipient individual that although his eyes were open, it was not where his mind presently dwelled. 

Oscar Pine, he thought to himself, was almost _reverentially_ honest, and it was abundantly clear this was both by choice and by nature. However, the boy understood what it meant to keep a secret and why secrets are sometimes necessary. If he didn’t, he would not be planning to set a trap for the ones responsible for Beacon’s fall in the future. What surprised him was Oscar finagling his cooperation in regards to his plan by leveraging information about the future, which he knew Ozpin desperately wanted to know. It was surprisingly shrewd of a fourteen-year-old former farm hand.

That said, Oscar was _hiding something_. It had _something_ to do with his second visit to the Atlas vault. Ozpin was certain of it. He had touched his chest without realizing it as he was recalled the incident and before that tried to wheedle _which_ event in the vault Ozpin had seen without the headmaster knowing any better. Evidently, he wasn’t comfortable with Ozpin knowing what occurred. He undoubtedly considered it deeply private.

Had he been wounded there? Ozpin closes his eyes and tries to remember what he’d seen in the dream-memory he had witnessed of Oscar in the vault…

James, older and tired, seeking council yet unyielding. Oscar asserts that the path where only he has all the answers leads nowhere good. Not wanting to hear this, James turns back and states in unequivocal, inarguable terms that nothing mattered more than stopping Salem. Not allowing himself to stand down, Oscar has both the conviction and unwavering resolve to disagree.

A fourteen-year-old! Openly challenging the opinion of a seasoned general!

In the dream, James eventually acquiesces Oscar’s position, but the dream also… grew strange. As though the memories were photographs that had been double-exposed, time and positions overlapped each other. There was no telling the true sequence of events or even if the ghoulish, nightmarish ‘edits’ of memory were indeed the de facto truth. Ozpin theorized, whatever happened, and whatever mysterious connection the two of them shared between dream and memory, Oscar’s emotional state at the time was jumbling and distorting the memory.

Falling from the precipice of the vault and surviving would be traumatic enough, not to mention whatever Oscar was keeping secret. 

The only thing Ozpin could reliably determine from his interpretation of the memories was that at one point Oscar fell and at another James drew his pistol. Besides theorizing, he couldn’t accurately piece together events as they truly happened. He needed more information.

With the scarce few pieces he had, however, putting only those together told a chilling story, indeed! He had to be missing something… it didn’t make sense unless something was missing… Otherwise the dream, being from Oscar’s point of view, would imply James shot a child!

James was a man who would do anything in order to do what he thought was right, but he would never compromise his morality to the point where he would shoot a child!

He stares down at the now-cold cocoa in his hands, even more troubled than he was before.

Soon after that, Glynda blows up his Scroll with messages about an incident in the dorms.

It’s over the next week while dealing with the incident in the dorms that Ozpin considers the best way to move forward with Oscar’s proposal. He notices that the boy in questions spends his time during that week between the rehabilitation of his team, teams RWBY and JNPR, and avoiding him. The headmaster didn’t think this was out of apprehension or unease on Oscar’s part; instead, Ozpin thought he was trying to be considerate and give him time to weigh his choices.

As for getting to the truth of the matter behind the incident in the dorms wasn’t as difficult when compared to deciding how to judge the matter. Miss Iris had been manifestly disrespectful to her teammate and Miss Noir had escalated the incident beyond the scope of the original offense. Ozpin had wondered whether he would need to reshuffle team arrangements, but once he noticed Oscar and Mr. Regent conspiring right outside Lacey’s room in the medical wing nodding sharply in agreement with each other, he decided to leave the matter of making up to the team. 

If possible, Ozpin liked to interfere with team dynamics as minimally as possible. He couldn’t leave them floundering, but he also couldn’t simply hand them the answers.

The only thing he could give anyone was the choice.

“I mean, I know she didn’t mean to hurt me,” he heard Miss Iris indignantly tell Oscar and Mr. Regent from behind the door where she stayed in the medical wing. He had meant to check on her, but he ended up spying on them instead. Lacey was sitting up in the hospital bed, looking their way. Although her voice sounded energetic and full of life, at a glance she looked completely drained. “I just don’t get why she got _soo_ mad.”

“Mmn, you know Lacey, I know we’ve all seen Cardin pulling on Velvet’s ears…” Oscar starts obliquely, eyeing Lacey carefully. The boy could be incredibly crafty when he absolutely wanted to be. His admission to Beacon was a testament to that fact. 

“Ugh. That’s not the same thing,” Lacey protests as he trails off. “I wasn’t trying to be mean or make fun of her, I just wanted her atten—oww! Alexander, stop that!”

Peeking further in, having fully committed to spying now that he was here, Ozpin could see Alexander had grabbed hold of and was now twisting Lacey’s ear. Oscar was wincing, but, to his surprise, did nothing. This was probably what they had decided on before they went into the room. 

“Do I have your attention? Is this respectful?” Alexander asks, voice prim and stiff, like he was one of the professors at Beacon instead of a student. There was a note of mercilessness in his voice and the headmaster briefly wondered, and worried, that the Regent family was a supporter of corporal punishment, although he couldn’t believe Oscar might allow such a thing. But he did, sitting by Lacey’s side and biting the inside of his lip.

Ozpin continued to watch in silence.

“Sorrrr- _ry_ ,” Lacey says miserably, and guiltily. She flattens out on the bed as if deflated. Alexander loosens his hold on Lacey’s ear, but did not let go.

“For what,” Oscar asks, jumping in with perfect timing, “specifically?”

They _must_ have practiced this.

“I’m sorry for touching Rook’s ear without permission and ripping it. Actually, I’m _really_ sorry about that…”

“Are we the ones who need to hear that?” Alexander presses, tugging the ear in his fingers reminiscent of a strict schoolmaster of times past. Ozpin almost smiled despite himself.

“Nooo,” Lacey responds, groaning as she stretches her arms out before her in surrender.

“Kind of embarrassing, huh?” Oscar’s mild-tempered voice joined in.

Alexander let go soon after that.

Lacey rubbed her ear, scowling at the two of them.

“Now imagine anyone who wanted your attention grabbed the part of your body, without permission, that for years that people have shown hate for.”

“Or inappropriate interest in,” Alexander adds in a purely scholastic tone, although one with an evasive edge to it.

Lacey turned a little red. She understood what Alexander was implying. Oscar himself looks as though he didn’t, but also like he had a sneaking suspicion as to what he was referring to. 

“I thought it was different but it—I—was just like Cardin, huh…” Lacey says softly to herself.

Alexander and Oscar quietly nod.

“Anyway,” Oscar moves on, deciding Lacey’s had enough of their… interrogation? He takes something from his backpack. “We brought you something…”

It was there Ozpin decided to take his leave. He’d lingered long enough.

_He arrives in the medical wing early the next morning._

_“I think I get it,” Miss Iris says in his interview with her. She is quiet and demure as she recuperates in bed. Her eyes are restless and her fingers tap her sheets in a rhythm Ozpin was unable to decipher nor hear, but these were tics and quirks were normal to her. From what he could tell, Ozpin thought she looked reflective, but resolved. “I know I lack ‘emotional intelligence’ and I’ve never met a Faunus before so I didn’t even think about how shameful it must feel having something like that done to you. I know I can ‘see’ how people feel and predict what they’ll do or intuit connections others can’t, but I don’t ‘see’ histories and I guess until now I’ve never thought I needed to. I’ve never really **had** to get along with anyone before. I have a lot to learn, huh…” _

_“Do you feel comfortable working with Miss Noir again?”_

_“Uh-huh,” Lacey bobs her head without even the pretense of thinking about it. Her answer felt almost absentminded as if he were a waiter confirming her order at a restaurant. Ozpin didn’t interpret this behavior as being purposefully blasé more so than having mentally moved on already._

_“If Rook’ll have me back, then I’m ready to try again.”_

_“I see,” Ozpin murmurs and nods to himself. He then leans forward in his chair almost conspiratorially, hands clasped atop his cane._

_“Why did you decide to become a Huntress?” he asks her suddenly._

_Lacey answers without batting an eye, not even bothering to raise a single eyebrow at the sudden change of subject._

_“Mmnn, My family’s famous, you know? We’re the only other competition when it comes to Atlas tech, you know? I wanted to know about weapons. I wanted to see how Hunters use their weapons in the field. Like, really, **really** use them, you know? I like creating new things, but I also like creating useful things. I thought all I needed was to see a lot of different weapons and how people were using them, but now I think I need to understand **people** to improve my prototypes. Of course, to do this means I have to be a Huntress too… So, you know…” _

_Ah, so that explains it then. Why Lacey so easily suffered a concussion after being thrown into a wall. Her primary focus before Beacon wasn’t on her own combat abilities. No wonder her Aura had been so weak it landed her in this condition. Beacon primarily only accepted the best in battle, but combat schools nor Hunters could survive without other experts who knew about weaponcrafting or technology to further their skills and defenses against the Grimm. Not every school was like Signal that had students forge their own weapons. These sorts of people were needed too. Diversity was the way of the future._

_Lacey struggled with empathy, but not because she was incapable of it. Empathy was just like any other skill; it could be honed._

_Lacey’s interview ended shortly after that. He wished her luck in her recovery. The girl barely paid attention when he left, her mind already on other things._

In all likelihood, Oscar wasn’t his son, yet Ozpin acknowledged the feelings of responsibility for him along with the instincts that clamored for his protection. Moreover, as Oscar describes it, “he” wasn’t “there” anymore. He had the memories, the soul, the ancient challenge—one in which he was determined to rise and face—but no one to guide him.

He was alone.

Oh, he had his aunt, friends from home, and his comrades in the future, but he was far from home in both place _and_ time. As far as he was aware, Oscar had told no one else his secret. Which made Ozpin the only one he could truly rely on and even then it was clear Oscar had complicated feelings about that. Still, as Oscar had said himself, he needed someone he could _trust_ despite whatever happened between them in his past or whatever misgivings the boy felt about it.

 _“I also know there’s no one that you truly trust.”_ Oscar had said, mouth drawn in a thin, guarded line, green-gold eyes watching him closely to see if he’d object. _“Not really. Not the way you need it. A lot of people believe in you, **really** believe in you, but you don’t believe in them.”_

And he was right. Too many memories of betrayal, too many memories of dying at the hands of those who turned on him, who were lured to Salem’s side or who had grown weary and apathetic of the bloodshed without end had transformed him into a coward who could trust no one. He feared betrayal in every shadow. Which was, Ozpin was slowly beginning to realize, was perhaps exactly what Salem wanted…

…The boy was still so painfully young to carry their heavy burden and bear this terrible curse during what Ozpin now knows will be a time of brewing war, the violent end to years of peace. Oscar accused him of ‘leaving when they and he needed him’ and often spoke as if he knew him. And since he inherited _their_ curse, he really did know him, didn’t he? He wondered what his future-self had done to earn Oscar’s ire.

But once again, no, he could make a moderately accurate theory, couldn’t he?

Oscar saw him as a _liar_. That’s why he stressed the importance about telling the rest of his inner circle the truth. That’s why Oscar made it a _condition_ of his cooperation.

But there had to be something else there. That look of meaning and _desperation_ for him to understand, _truly_ understand, what he was saying when he impressed that he was loved and trusted by his inner circle and that he shouldn’t dishonor them by keeping them in the dark… that look had a _history_ to it. 

Something had _happened_ to them because they didn’t know the truth and that was what Oscar was trying to prevent. Internal conflict? An ideological rift? Had Salem sown division among them? 

Ozpin continued to ponder.

During lunchtime the next day, Ozpin spots Oscar talking to Miss Belladonna in an unoccupied area of the courtyard. They are too far away for him to hear and the headmaster dare not interrupt without reason. He could not see Oscar’s expression, but Miss Belladonna’s feelings were unmistakably clear even across the distance. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowed, her mouth drawn in a disapproving line. In every contour of her body, she conveyed that she was on edge.

Oscar then says something that causes her shoulders to sag and the tension in her body drains away. She still shakes her head skeptically, but she no longer looks like she would bolt away at a moment’s notice. With a little bob of his head, Oscar makes a gesture Ozpin knows from experience is apologetic, but Blake shakes her head again, waving a hand like _she_ was the sorry one instead.

They talk for a bit longer before parting ways. 

Idly, the headmaster wonders what they had discussed, then headed to his next interview.

_“…Thought I’d killed him,” Rook confesses in her interview with Ozpin, referring to Alexander crumpling to the floor when her Semblance grew overpowering. The girl glances guiltily at his face as if to gauge his thoughts and temperament before just as quickly returning her gaze blankly to the floor. She doesn’t elaborate any further on this point, but normally, one wouldn’t assume they’d killed someone in this manner unless it’s happened like this **before**_ **.**

_Ozpin decides to let this pass without comment. Huntsmen came from all sorts of diverse backgrounds. Not all of them were peaceful and removed of bloodshed. More often, it was the opposite. Although wayward Huntsmen were a problem, growing corrupt and exploiting the ones they should protect instead, even good, kind, or righteous people have taken lives to deliver others from harm. Ozpin felt in cases like these, those whose hands had been stained with blood, who had truly experienced the burden and responsibility that came with cutting short a life, as they grew into Huntsmen he knew they could really, truly understand the weight and value of the lives they swore to protect._

_It was something he valued. That others understood the cost of taking life. It wasn’t anything that could be taught in class (or if it did, it would be a highly controversial curriculum; one even he wouldn’t risk). It’s a small part of what made the team system in the academies so crucial in his opinion. Teammates that trusted and opened up to each other could share their thoughts and experiences. Teammates who had such dark experience pass on their own lessons so others could know of and understand the burden._

_“A-And, I hurt Lace real bad. Her Aura wasn’t even activated… she wasn’ even trying to fight me… ‘Lex was just trying to help too…”_

_Rook balls her hands into fists, still staring at her feet._

_“And Os’… I **know** he figured out what my Semblance was before this and still accepted me. How does he feel now that I hurt everyone…?”_

_Ozpin thoughtfully turns over Miss Noir’s name for Oscar in his mind… Os’…_

_“How can I face them again…?” she finishes miserably._

_This is the face of shame. Something in her tortured expression takes hold of his heart and refuses to let go._

_“Why did you want to become a Huntress, Miss Noir?” Ozpin asks her._

_Rook stiffens, immediately raising her head to look him in the eye from across his desk._

_“I want to help people… Like me. Become strong enough to be able to protect everyone.”_

_“Why not the police? Firefighter? Doctor?”_

_Rook shakes her head._

_“…I need… people,” she explains brokenly. “…Who are… stronger. Who… I can trust. Who trust… me.”_

_A team, in other words. Miss Noir was seeking people she could trust. For someone who tries to educate and foster trust between students, how long has it been since he trusted anyone? How had he become such a despicable hypocrite?_

Suppose he did tell his circle the truth, would they accept it? Did Oscar, by making this a condition, mean that he knew they could accept it? That they could be trusted? Truly trusted? But didn’t this also mean in Oscar’s timeline that the others found out his secrets without his telling them?

Ozpin could not describe his slithering discomfort with that conceit. 

Suppose he told them the truth, then what about Oscar? How does he explain Oscar if he was going to allow his involvement? Ozpin could accept time-travel and a future Oz, but he’s not certain the others would be so quick to believe Oscar’s story. Ozpin could accept it because Oscar was also Oz and Ozpin understood what it was like to be Oz, but the others couldn’t understand the nigh impossibility that Oscar was lying about this. It would be too unbelievable.

More than that, what would happen if _Salem_ discovered this information? That there was a future Oz interfering with her plans? Any opportunities Oscar could provide them in terms of thwarting her strategies would be lost. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Oscar was…

…Important.

He couldn’t risk it even if the boy understood what he was getting involved with. It was the same as when Ozpin worried Oscar might be his actual son. The consequences of Salem finding out was something he could not and, more importantly, refused to risk. Emotionally and strategically.

Then what would happen if he refused Oscar’s condition? Inwardly, Ozpin knew regardless of whether he complied with his condition or not, Oscar would find a way to get involved without approval. Furthermore, being privy to future events, he imagined Oscar could easily bypass any attempt to keep him from doing just that. If that was the case, there hadn’t necessarily been any _need_ for Oscar to involve Ozpin, but he _chose_ to. Because, as he’d said, he needed someone he could trust with all this and… he wanted to be someone Ozpin could trust, too.

They, after all, bore the same burden and the same goal. If he was the curse’s successor, then he might as well be his own biological son despite his origins.

Ozpin’s mind switched tracks. Gone was the ancient warrior and here was the educator:

Suppose despite all of Oscar’s colossal efforts, Ozpin died anyway and Beacon fell regardless of what he did? What happened to Oscar then? He’d need the power and the means to protect himself and the others.

He would need tools, training, and a certain kind of education beyond what Beacon could provide him for the war. He needed to know more about their powers—it was abundantly clear Oscar didn’t know much about the Long Memory let alone the true extent of their abilities. Did he even know any magic? He had obviously received muscle memory given the state of his combat skills, but would it be enough when Salem struck again?

If Ozpin fell to the horror of their best efforts otherwise, did Oscar know anything about strategy? He’d made it to Beacon on his own merits and intelligence, but did he understand how armies moved, how to place spies, how to anticipate the enemy? If the timeline shifted because Oscar changed things, would he know how to respond accordingly and execute his plans?

Ozpin finds himself excited despite himself.

It would be a real chance to _train_ another Oz before death, before reincarnation. It would be preparation _none_ of the rest of them had. Doubtless he had access to memories and a wealth of information, but as a fourteen-year-old it would be impossible to understand it all let alone embody it within the short time Oscar implied they had.

With the amount of care and attachment he already felt toward Oscar he really might as well be…

“… My son,” he murmurs.

He is once again watching over Oscar in the courtyard after classes had finished for the day. This time he was with Mr. Arc, who was sitting on the ground tuning the strings on his guitar. They’re soon joined by Miss Nikos, followed shortly by a curious Miss Coco Adel. The fashion enthusiast gestures at Jaune, and the teenager willingly hands his instrument over with an embarrassed and goofy look on his face. She pulls on the guitar’s shoulder strap, tests the strings, and then starts playing a tune to the wonder and delight of her now captivated audience.

This entices Miss Schnee, who was just passing by, to stop and listen intently. Once Coco finishes, the pale-haired girl launched into rapid conversation. Even from where he stood, Ozpin could hear the words, _“That was one of my songs!”_ After which, Coco only laughs, tugs on Weiss’ ponytail, and returns the guitar to Jaune. She says something to Pyrrha, then reaches over to mess up Oscar’s hair before taking off again.

It was then Ozpin realized that he had a partner in his observation. Unbeknownst to him, Glynda had appeared beside him at one point, watching over the children alongside him. Had she heard what he murmured to himself just moments before?

She looks to Ozpin, as she often did when she needed council, direction, or hope, lacking the all-too-familiar yet somehow comforting hard edges her face usually reflected. Instead her expression was reserved, giving off an air of quiet concern.

She asked him in a voice barely above a whisper, “Does he really know the future?”

Oscar’s words come to him, unbidden, in the back of his mind: _“There’s a lot of people who love and trust you.”_

Slowly, as if he’s not entirely sure how to go about it, the headmaster nods.

It was, after all, the truth.

Ozpin was also present in the hallways when Oscar, Miss Rose, Miss Velvet Scarlatina, and Mr. Regent were escorting a shamefaced, self-conscious Miss Noir to Miss Iris’ room, encouraging a talk between them. 

“S… She won’t want to talk to me,” Rook was saying desperately while Oscar and Ruby led her forward, each holding one of Rook’s hands. Oscar and Alexander would hear no protest and it seemed like Ruby was trying to help. Velvet trailed quietly behind in their wake, apparently dragged along their riptide.

“When you hurt someone, you apologize,” Oscar tells her simply without looking back.

“Even if they don’t want to hear it,” Ruby added.

“And even if they don’t forgive you,” Alexander continued.

“You still need to say it,” Velvet finished.

“And mean it!” Ruby added further, squeezing Rook’s hand.

It took more encouraging to actually _get_ Rook in the room, but through their joint efforts, the teenagers were able to manage it.

Ozpin smiles to himself.

_Mr. Regent’s interview did not go as he thought it would. He sits in the chair opposite Ozpin’s desk with his back ramrod straight and his gaze steady. He is one hundred percent focused in this moment and this moment alone._

_He opens conclusively, as though he was the one whom had called for the interview and was the one with the authority to determine how to proceed, “Lacey needs to realize what she did is wrong,” He holds his hands out as though they were a scale, palms upturned. One hand rose in the air while the other sank. He alternated which side of the scale rose or sank as he continued to speak. “Rook also needs to know she was wrong, too. As teammates, no, as people who reside on the same planet, we have a duty to listen to each other.”_

_“You don’t believe one of your teammates is more wrong than the other?” Ozpin presses contrarily and with purpose. He laces his fingers together on the desk before him, gazing at the student with an impassive expression. “You were hurt during their confrontation.”_

_“Sir, I do not believe any one person can or should have their rights abridged by the single act of another. Lacey was wrong. Rook was wrong too. They hurt each other and myself, but I do not believe any of us intended to harm the other. However, it is indeed true I was lain unconscious in the altercation. Notwithstanding! Rook is extremely remorseful, and Lacey is incredibly sorry!”_

_“…Is remorse enough?”_

_“Sir?”_

_“Do you believe feeling sorry or remorseful is enough to make things right between your team?”_

_Alexander hesitates for only a moment, processing._

_“Respectfully, sir, if… one does not feel anything when one hurts another… if there is no regret, no conscious, no guilt after recognizing the harm that was done, then one need not seek forgiveness in the first place. It would only be a farce. Seeking forgiveness for a terrible act should be proof a second chance—that reconciliation, that progress—is possible.”_

_Ozpin takes time to digest this._

_“No matter how terrible the act?”_

_Mr. Regent’s jaw twitches, the first unmistakably human and organic act he’s done the entire interview. Possibly his entire lifetime._

_The boy closes his eyes for a moment as if needing to mull over his words, before he states, with deliberate dictation, “If we accept evil as inevitable, then inevitably we accept evil. We all have a duty to make the world a better place than we found it and fight against the degradation of our integrity no matter how pervasive we see evil in our world. Sir, my family hails from Atlas, but originally Mantle. We fought in the Great War. You know what that means. I **have**_ _to believe that both redemption and reparation are possible.”_

_Soon after that, they finish up discussing the details of the incident and he dismisses Mr. Regent from his office._

_He left the headmaster with much to think about._

Ozpin wavered. He struggled. Oscar was courageous—he possessed almost otherworldly courage, to come from out of time and force himself into making plans against Salem—but he was still a child. And children are precious. They’re supposed to be the future after all. And a brighter one than the generation before it.

But Oscar was a child _of_ the future and here he was, telling Ozpin that things needed to change or Beacon would fall and his students (and their futures along with them) will die. What had happened to the survivors of Beacon after it fell? Ozpin could almost conclude who they had been based on how quickly Oscar formed bonds with other teams, although that couldn’t possibly be an entirely reliable indicator as Oscar’s youth and amicable disposition earned him more than a few fast friends.

Ozpin was pretty certain about Jaune and Pyrrha, however, given how attached to them Oscar appeared to be. Thanks to his dream, he already _knew_ Ruby was involved, but that was no great surprise, given who her mother and uncle were.

Oscar’s words suddenly come back to him again.

_“Have you always imagined, standing there at the end of it all, facing Salem alone?”_

This boy… so honest and earnest, yet so incredibly ruthless when it came to the secrets of his heart.

Little by little, Ozpin strengthened his resolve.

One day at the end of the week, Ozpin, who has been doing a lot of spying and eavesdropping over the past week, catches Oscar and Yang speaking to each other outside of Lacey’s room in the medical wing. They were sitting with their backs against the corridor. _Inside_ the room there seemed to be a lot of people. Oscar’s team, the rest of RWBY, and JNPR. Ozpin would even go so far to say it was a party of some kind. In truth, it was somewhat difficult to hear what the two were discussing because of the noise.

“Thanks for letting her stay that night, right after, well, everything…” Oscar says, referring to who could be none other than Rook. He lets out a brief sigh as if he’d just escaped a stressful social situation.

“Huh?” Yang has her hands behind her head, her fingers creating a pillow between her head and the wall. “Oh! Yeah. It was nothing. Like I said then, I’ve said and done things when I got angry that I super regretted later, too. Nothing exactly like this, but most of my family are or were Huntsmen at some time or another. A few punches and kicks from an angry kid having a tantrum is no biggie. It’d be different if I had normal parents though…”

“You punched your dad?”

Yang grins proudly and shows Oscar her fist, “He punched me right back!”

“Uh…”

“Oh, it wasn’t like that.” Yang aims a few playful air-jabs at Oscar’s shoulder. “Discipline. Control. Direction. He taught me how to fight. Gave me something to focus on growing up so I’d stop lashing out at everyone.”

Oscar is too polite to inquire further. He was distinctly skilled at both reading between the lines and sensing hardship in others. Most likely he didn’t want to upset Miss Xiao Long by reminding her of troubles past and stepping on what he suspects is a landmine.

Whether the young woman noticed Oscar’s consideration or not she gave no indication of it, although Ozpin thought she noticed far more than she let on. She easily blew past their topic of conversation to something else.

“You know any hand-to-hand, Oscar?”

The boy smiles shyly.

“A little.”

“Let’s spar sometime then!”

“I will literally die if we do that.”

“C’mon! Don’t be a killjoy!”

Miss Nora Valkyrie suddenly shouts something from inside Lacey’s room which, like a dark, ancient ritual, summoned no local deity greater than Glynda Goodwitch herself into the hallway. She first tells Miss Xiao Long and Oscar off for “loitering in the hallway” and then goes on to tell the literal party in Lacey’s room to quiet down and disband. When the children make disappointed noises, Glynda shakes her head, crosses her arms, and informs them that so many people in a room of this size was a clear fire hazard and that any mess they caused was one they would have to clean up themselves.

There was another groan of disappointment. 

Ozpin grimaces and makes his way back to his office. He didn’t want Glynda to catch _him_ snooping. 

…Again.

In the evening of the next day Oscar Pine was once again inside his office.

Interviewing Oscar about the incident wasn’t strictly necessary on account of his barely even being on the scene and the headmaster knew that. However, Ozpin told himself it was due diligence.

Even though he didn’t say it aloud, Oscar had the look of someone who was thinking, _“I should have been there.”_ The only reason he didn’t say so, Ozpin thought, was because he knew he couldn’t be in two places at once. Oscar was idealistic, but he dealt with the reality in front of him. He wouldn’t express his feelings directly because Oscar was the kind of person to view helping teammates and defeating Salem as equally important things. A fact that helped explain the conflicted expression on Oscar’s face. Of wanting to have been there but also realizing their discussion had been vital.

“It was good everyone was there,” is what Oscar eventually concludes about the incident. “They all wanted to help.”

This is the kind of fourteen-year-old who stands up to a general, Ozpin thinks to himself. One who focused on how the students in the dorm came together instead of how chaos was stewed in the first place. _How_ was important, but not as important as working _towards_ unity.

It’s then and there Ozpin makes up his mind.

“If you’ll allow me to move the topic of discussion, I have decided to accept the condition you proposed before, Oscar, but only if you can fulfill my counterproposal.”

“Okay. …What is it?”

“During the time we work together, pretend to be my son.”

_“…E-Excuse me?”_

Oscar all but boggles at him.

_That night, when discussion of his counterproposal was put to rest, Ozpin dreams seemingly without end. It was a dream he knew was from the future, or, in Oscar’s case, the past. He, as Oscar, awkwardly clasps his shoulder with one hand, the other dangling by his side, and was leaning against a wall. He was, not entirely voluntarily, listening to retching sounds as, what dream knowledge informed him, a Captain Ebi soothed a withdrawing Qrow. Yang (‘Miss Xiao Long’ his sleeping mind protested, but the influences of Oscar’s preferences were overwhelming here) had similarly positioned herself against the wall next to him, arms folded across her chest in a manner and stature that, to Ozpin, feels very much like Raven._

_The resemblance was, bluntly, striking._

_Yang and Oscar occupying the hallway distinctively reminded him of spotting them together the day before._

_From behind the wall there was a raspy, haggard, “Thanks, Clover.”_

_To which a smooth mystery voice responded with a patient, soothing, “Don’t worry about it.”_

_In his soul, Ozpin knew they were in Atlas Academy. He recognized the make of the floor, the trim on the walls, the chill of the air. He feels it in his bones, the soles of his feet, the pulsing of his blood. It has been some time since he was back in Atlas, and he can feel the fluttering of Oscar’s heart as he stood there, all things both familiar and foreign—an experience Ozpin himself had once gone through._

_“I think this is the longest I’ve known Uncle Qrow to be sober,” Yang idly told Oscar while they waited, (for what, Ozpin didn’t yet know) her eyes staring glumly into the distance, “I hope it stays this way. For good this time.”_

_She had a complicated scowl on her face, watching memories that neither Oscar nor Ozpin could see behind her eyes. She was a lot more discontent than the Yang Ozpin saw in the halls of his school. Older. More mature. Her eyes were sharper, focused. There was a loss of innocence that hung from her shoulders like a mantle. She was like a dagger sharpened the night before battle._

_Even in the dream, Ozpin could feel Oscar’s awe and respect for the young woman, like a warm, steady glow; undying and eternal. In the back of Oscar’s mind, Ozpin felt the reassurance of strength, compassion, and solidarity when he gazed at her._

_“Yeah, me too,” Oscar replied politely after a long pause because he didn’t know what else to say._

_“He was never as bad as he was after the train crash and in Argus, you know. Finding the truth out about Oz really hurt him.”_

_Oscar looked down at his feet and Ozpin feels the flash of guilt that violently tears through him, merciless and unforgiving. Uncertainty and worry begin to well in Ozpin’s chest. Not just because of Oscar’s guilt, but because of the ‘truth’ Yang mentioned. His skin tingled with foreboding._

_“…Yeah.”_

_Yang must have noticed the boy’s sensitivity because from the corner of his eye he can see her expression soften._

_“Sorry. That came out wrong. I mean, we all know **you** didn’t do anything wrong.” _

_“…I’m not so sure about that…” Oscar says, putting in a heroic effort in order to keep his voice from sounding absolutely miserable._

_“Hey, c’mon. Without you, we wouldn’t even know about Salem and Oz and everything.”_

_“I feel like **I** betrayed him.” _

_Yang snorts scornfully, then sinks to a crouch, her back pressed against the wall and hands dangling between her knees. She looks up at him._

_“Yeah? Do you think he’d feel the same way you do if we were still in the dark? Do you think he thought that keeping secrets from us was betrayal? He was never going to tell us, Oscar…”_

_“Still, the way we found out…”_

_It’s a strange contrast to how Ozpin usually interpreted Oscar’s feelings about him. His desire to defend him, even just a little bit, gave him pause._

_“…Yeah,” she concedes with the smallest dip of her head. “I guess that feels unfair. If Jinn had just told us instead of showing us, it’d feel a lot less like invading someone’s privacy.”_

_Oscar nods thoughtfully, ignorant of the black storm of emotions that now gripped his invisible observer._

_Jinn made sense, the rational part of Ozpin’s dream brain thought while the rest of him shook with horror at this revelation. So the Spring Maiden had been found and the relic retrieved, his rational mind filed away, apprehension running down every inch of his spine. Yang barrels on despite Ozpin’s uncontrollable, roiling disquiet. An acute, painful sense of constriction in his chest came over him while Yang’s harsh assertion continued._

_“But Oscar, listen. You and Ruby have this thing where you leave yourselves open to be the bearer of everyone’s problems. So you hurt when other people hurt, and then you hurt more when you hurt someone else, even when those people have hurt you. I don’t think the ends necessarily justify the means, but all that stuff about Salem was information we **needed** —no. Had a **right** to know…”_

_Yang trails off, but there’s an anger and weight to her words that makes it feel like she has more to say._

_“…And he promised me no more lies and half-truths! Actually, he said, ‘Understood,’ which is neither committing or refusing, I guess, but he let us believe it was a promise; one if in the situation he really did promise, I don’t think he would hesitate to break. So if I ever had to decide between you or Ozpin, I’d rather have you. You’re **our**_ Oz. _You never lied to us. We know we can trust **you**.”_

_Ozpin’s heart sank deeper than the ocean. To know he had disappointed a student this severely made him want to curl up into a ball of self-loathing. In the dream-memory Yang’s words don’t make Oscar feel better, but they also don’tt make him feel worse. He feels Oscar’s reluctance and hesitation, white-hot, erratic confliction, a sense that he wanted to protest otherwise, but no heart in which to argue. He’s disappointed Oscar too, in this future. Broke his heart like Yang and Qrow and the gods know who else._

_He was trapped in a nightmare-memory where he could not run away from actions he has yet to make and perhaps already have._

_In the dream, Oscar squeezes his shoulder in reaction to Yang’s harsh conclusion, but it almost feels like reassurance to Ozpin. Small, ghostly reassurance grasping for his resolve. Comfort where, realistically, he should find none._

_“And that’s why I think Uncle Qrow’s had such a hard time of it. Trust has always been hard for him.” Yang continues, running an absent hand through her golden hair. “And I think the fire in the farmhouse with the Apathy really scared him. Ruby and Weiss got him out of there, but I think he hated himself for being so completely thrashed and oblivious to the danger we were in, like he abandoned us to fend for ourselves. My uncle is… well, you know. But he looks out for us.”_

_“He loves you.” Oscar’s voice is so gentle Ozpin can even hear the smile in his words._

_Yang also smiles. Compared to a moment before, she looks almost so bright, almost serene…_

_She flaps a hand._

_“Yeah. And in Argus, when Ruby stepped up, I think he learned he could trust us. Trust that we could look after each other and ourselves. That we would even look after him. He wasn’t just one Huntsman with a bunch’a kids; he was a Huntsman with Huntsmen-in-training.”_

_“You seem mad at him though...” Oscar pries carefully._

_“…It’s…” Yang starts, then stops. She takes a breath and struggles to find the right words, internal turmoil brewing behind her eyes again._

_“…Not the first time. I just—I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”_

_Oscar hums briefly in thought, turning over events in his mind. They’re too quick for Ozpin to hold on to and see, but at this point he’s not sure he even wanted to know more…_

_“…Ironwood seems like he’s trying to help. When we first came here he had that liqueur cabinet. It’s gone now. So is the whiskey flask that was in his desk.”_

_“Why were you going through Ironwood’s desk? Did you steal anything interesting?”_

_…Even in the middle of his self-loathing, Ozpin also found himself curious despite everything._

_“I needed a pen!” Oscar huffs indignantly._

_“Oh, bummer,” Yang comments slyly, all grins._

_“Anyway, what I meant to say is… Ironwood’s trying to help, Clover—” Oscar jerks his head in the direction of the door they were waiting outside of, “is trying to help. And I know everyone else is doing their best to try and support him. So maybe… have a little faith?”_

_Yang lowers her eyes and thinks about it. Minutes pass in silence before the young woman comes to an answer. She simply shrugs, then stretches._

_“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try not to be so hard on him.”_

_Whether she truly accepted this neither Oscar nor Ozpin could tell. But they don’t have long to think about it before Yang is waggling a finger admonishingly at Oscar._

_“But from now on, I’m not letting you near any of my stuff, klepto.”_

_“I didn’t—I wasn’t—!” he sputters._

_Yang laughs at how flustered Oscar was getting._

_“What’s with the racket out here?”_

_A pale-looking Qrow lurches out from the doorway. The two of them stare at him. Clover peeks at them from over his shoulder and Ozpin gets a good look at what dream knowledge helpfully informs him, yet again, is one of James’ elite Ace Operatives. Although, for some reason the alias ‘Fishing Pole Guy’ briefly flashes through Oscar’s mind. Ozpin is dreaming, but the whiplash between the children’s moods before and after the two of them arrived left him exhausted._

_Yang points at Oscar, “Oscar was just telling me that he stole General Ironwood’s most prized pen.”_

_Oscar was about to protest, but Qrow gives him an encouraging thumbs up._

_He grunts approvingly, “’Atta boy!”_

_“That’s impossible,” Clover tells them with an impassive, unreadable expression. Instantly, the three of them felt tense unsure of the sudden change in atmosphere._

_They look at him anxiously. And then…_

_“ **I** was the one who stole his last good pen.”_

_Oscar deflated, his name going uncleared in this accusation of thievery, while Qrow and Yang shot inquiring glances at the man._

_Clover knows his audience and proudly puts his hands on his hips, with an equally proud declaration of, “What? Not all of us start off by stealing Atlas airships.”_

_Both Yang and Oscar flap their hands dismissively and nod with a note of solemnity and resignation, as if to say they couldn’t argue with logic as sound as that. Ozpin felt a growing worry over their cavalier attitude towards theft, but it wasn’t like he’d never stolen anything before in all his lives. He decided not to judge for now._

_“Anyway, what’re you kids doing out here?” Qrow asks, squinting at them suspiciously._

_Yang bounces to her feet._

_“Dun, dun, dun, dun! Ruby and General Ironwood asked us to give you something, Uncle Qrow. Ruby’s on a mission right now with Ren and Blake, and Ironwood is at the launch site. They both wanted to be here, buuut… You got us instead!”_

_Launch site…? Ozpin’s mind puzzles over these words, but the conversation continues._

_“Ruby? And Jimmy? That’s a weird combination…”_

_“Oscar—” Yang prompts._

_“Right.”_

_Oscar nods his head sharply and pulls something out of his pocket. It’s small enough to be clasped in his hand. He looks at Qrow expectantly until the older man reaches his hand out, palm turned upwards._

_Oscar drops what appears to be a small silver coin into his hand._

_“From Ironwood. For getting through the month.”_

_Qrow’s face is surprised and though he tries to arrange it otherwise, it eventually melts into a look of barely concealed and embarrassed thanks._

_“Hopefully I won’t waste these this time,” Qrow says, admiring the sobriety chip. Without warning, Clover swats him on the back of the head._

_“Ow—! Hey—!”_

_“Certain you’ve had worse. Do the thing.”_

_“The… thing?” the children shared startled glances with each other. Ozpin finds himself just as confused an onlooker as the children were. Perhaps he was even more confused since he was still reeling from the dream’s earlier revelations._

_“Ugh,” Qrow groans. “Can’t I just get some food in me and go back to bed?”_

_“No, you have to do the thing,” Clover scolds, half-serious, half-good naturedly._

_Yang tilts her head to the side, one hand on her hip, and says impishly, “Well, Uncle Qrow, I dunno what the thing is but it looks like…”_

_She eyes Oscar and he dutifully chimes in._

_“…You gotta do the thing.”_

_Yang smiles at him, siddels closer, roguishly placing her elbow on Oscar’s shoulder, and leans her weight on him ever so slightly. They look at each other in accomplishment and then eye Qrow, brimming with eager expectation._

_Qrow gives a world-weary sigh as if he was ready to give his spirit to the void. Instead, he apparently cannot stand up to the combined anticipation of the children’s faces and relents. He states, “I… Am. A… Damn. Good… Huntsman.”_

_The children share glances again. This time, perplexed._

_Clover kindly fills them in._

_“Every time he says one bad thing about himself, I’m having him say one good thing.”_

_“It’s not gonna work for someone like me, Clover.”_

_Clover smacks him lightly on the head again._

_“Uughhh. I have two wonderful nieces—who are a **handful** ,” Qrow stresses and gives Yang a meaningful glance. He looks to Clover. “There, satisfied?”_

_“Getting there,” Clover hums as if Qrow just **barely** squeezed by with a passing mark. _

_“So anyway,” Oscar interrupts and Yang straightens up, “That was Ironwood’s gift. Ruby’s is next.”_

_“Lay it on me, Firecracker.”_

_Yang grins and—_

Ozpin wakes with grotesque clarity. He now understands the complicated expressions in Oscar’s gaze when he looked at him. Ozpin has so many emotions and so much information to sort through. 

He’s not certain how long he stares at the ceiling for, musing, but eventually he reaches for his Scroll with renewed purpose. Its light glows softly in the dark. He taps out a message.

**Oz >>> Qrow:** _Return to Beacon at once._

[If you like my art, here's some recent stuff:

[Ruby with moon, scythe, and Grimm](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/621226498220851200/i-will-never-tire-of-ruby-moon-imagery-3333)

[Ruby & Oscar as Persona Velvet Room Attendants](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/621655394693087232/this-is-super-random-but-are-you-by-any-chance-a)

[Blake n' Yang being perf](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/622934421252800512/getchu-a-girlfriend-who-can-lift-3)

[Ruby & Oscar holding hands, staring down the obstacles in front of them](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/623035440907370497/im-scared-im-more-scared-than-ive-ever-been)

I hope you like them!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin: tfw u feel like ur a bad dad. 
> 
> Sorry, Ozpin. We all have those days when we’re especially hard on ourselves. But we’ll all survive somehow. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (BTW: how about that RWBY vol. 7 soundtrack? *chef's kiss*)


	14. Surfactant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the inevitable tense mistakes, there's only so many times I can reread almost 22 pages of my own writing checking for errors and I'm too impatient for a beta.

Before she rounded the corner of the hallway, Rook, who was loitering pessimistically waiting for Oscar to get back to the dorms after his meeting with the headmaster, heard a crash swiftly followed by a shout. When she spotted the source of the commotion, an unpleasant gloom settled in her stomach. 

“Hey! C’mon, not again!” Jaune was protesting from the floor when she came around the bend, books and papers scattered all around him as Cardin continues to laugh him off dismissively. He then catches sight of Rook standing there at the end of the hallway and she sends him the dirtiest and most disapproving look she can muster. Cardin dishonored everyone he interacted with and she did not feel beholden to pretend otherwise.

“Tch. Whatever, _psycho_ ,” Cardin sneers loudly enough for everyone within earshot, passerby and bystander, to hear, causing her to flinch uncomfortably, then turns his back to leave. He made the perfect image of a gloating tormentor who knew exactly what people would let him get away with. With news of that night trickling out to the student body, more than a few rumors and, more painfully, _truths_ about her have gotten out, which the entire student body seemed intent to let her know exactly where their opinions fell. Which were opinions that went from negative, to negative, to unfathomably negative. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this…

She clenches her fists.

But she could handle this. Being a faunus in an anti-faunus world had conditioned her to ignore things like this.

Even if it was painful.

Cardin makes sure to step hard on one of Jaune’s textbooks as he leaves, cracking the spine. Now that it was over, the others in the hallway didn’t linger, hasty to press on to other matters and flee the scene. A school of huntsmen-to-be and so many would turn a blind eye. Rook snorts derisively to herself.

Then she scowls, fox ears laying flat against her head in righteous anger and stomps on over the help Jaune gather up his books and papers. If there was anything she learned the first two weeks of school was that she couldn’t push people away anymore, and Jaune had been there when she’d hurt Lacey and carried her away when things got bad. He’d been there at Lacey’s recovery party and he hadn’t turned away or ignored her while she was there. He was one of the people from that night who would face her openly and honestly, who didn’t look away when she looked at him. So she owed him more than just picking up his books.

Jaune laughs nervously, trying to act like he was in on an otherwise mystifying joke.

“Ha ha, thanks… Good old Cardin, that prankster.”

Rook’s scowl only deepens.

“You shouldn’t let ‘im treat you like that.”

“W-What?” Jaune stammers, caught off-guard by her sudden aggressivon. However, she wasn’t angry at _him_ , she was angry at _Cardin_. At the students around them that let Cardin and people like him get away with whatever they like. Jaune of Team JNPR didn’t deserve this.

“Like yer nothing,” she tells him with sympathetic, unflinching fervor, “Like yer a thing to be pushed around. Like yer only in the way.”

Jaune opens his mouth to say something, thinks better or it, then retorts instead, “I don’t _let_ him.”

Rooks’ ears flatten against her head, her righteousness immediately deflated, and she looks away miserably. It was true. No one chose to be bullied like this.

“…Yer right. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Jaune says, getting to his feet once the last of his books had been collected. “If we’re sharing unasked for advice then you should stop doing _that_.”

“…Ha?”

“I mean apologizing like that! We get it, _ooooo_ you’ve got a scary Semblance and it’s scary when it’s out of control but you can’t keep acting like, uh…” he scratches the back of his neck, hesitating, before he steps a little closer to her, looks directly into her eyes and says in a quieter voice with a hand cupped around his mouth, “Hey, is it rude to use the expression ‘kicked puppy?’”

Rook purposefully flicks one of her fox ears to the side and back, watching Jaune squirm both hopefully and uncomfortably under the pressure of her slow deliberating gaze before answering. It was strange, and different, to be around all these humans who cared—really, _actually_ —cared about how she felt with regards to her heritage and how they treated it. They were warm and respectful.

Ren and Nora had barged into her room once during the week when she was hiding in bed and brought her waffles. Nora was pouting because they weren’t pancakes, but Ren explained that they’d heard she preferred them and so, of course, waffles. This was, in fact, untrue. She had zero preference between pancakes or waffles and was simply caught up in Ren and Nora’s bizarre domestic flow and ended up sitting with them on the dorm room floor being served waffles feeling overwhelmed and bewildered. She couldn’t say a word until Nora tried to steal one of her waffles.

“H-Hey…!” Rook had cried out at the time and Nora turned to Ren, hands on her hips, triumphant smile on her face.

“See!” she said, bright eyed, as if Rook’s reaction explained _everything_. “Waffles!”

Ren simply made a thoughtful humming sound before he’d handed Rook a container of powdered sugar. It turned out it had been _his_ idea to bring her breakfast and Nora had jumped into the plan midway. Which was, in Rook’s experience, a completely mystifying thing for them to have thought to do.

She finds in this moment with Jaune, with growing surprise, that she trusts him. Him _and_ his team. He had little way in combat skill and had no Semblance, but she certainly understood why _he_ was the one who’d been made leader. She could feel it.

Amused at his goofy discretion, but deciding not to show it, she answers obligingly, “…I’ll allow it.”

Jaune practically melts with relief.

“Right! Then stop acting like everything ever is your fault. It’s not and it makes everyone around you feel bad. Yeah it sucks that your Semblance is like that and it sucks that it’s scary but those are the parts of you that you can’t help. Anyone who blames you for that is, like, I don’t know… a huge jerk! Lacey says she forgives you for giving her a concussion and you said at her party that you forgave her for ripping your ear—that still looks like it really hurts by the way, yeesh—so… stop. Just stop. As far as I’m concerned, everything’s cool.”

What touched her most of all was that he meant it. They all did. With their actions and their words. The entirety of Team JNPR had come to Lacey’s recovery party and even before that they had never treated her like she was a monster or a nightmare, that she was something to be fled from or hated. They barely knew her, had seen the effects of her Semblance, and yet they still did not fear or curse her.

Now it’s Rook’s turn to squirm, feeling embarrassed. This was… too much. She didn’t know how to handle all these actually nice feelings or these interpersonal relationships with other people who weren’t interested in hurting her or ignoring her in some way. She was bad at this. So she just lets an offhand comment slip just to fill the silence left by Jaune’s words.

“…I thought you were a kind’a idiot, but actually, yer not half bad, are you?”

“Aaand we need to work on your compliments,” is Jaune’s quick comeback, zero offense or indignation in his tone. He flaps a hand, using his elbow to hold the books in place in its stead. “It’s okay to keep some thoughts to yourself, you know. I won’t tell anyone if you actually say something nice to me. I promise.”

There’s a beat, and then…

Rook places a hand on her chin, trying to think fast like Jaune and then, as if she was a little uncertain of how to go about it, teases mildly, “…It’s okay, Jaune, I forgive you fer only being half good.”

“Argh! Whatever, man. What are you doing here anyway?”

Rook gives a quiet laugh. For all his complaining, Jaune didn’t actually seem to mind.

“Lookin’ fer Oscar. Should’a finished his conference with th’ headmaster by now.”

“Ahh, right. I’d be anxious to hear about how that went too if I were you… Professor Ozpin did your guys’ evaluations, right? Goodwitch did ours. Not sure which one of us got the better of that deal, to be honest. Professor Ozpin is, well… you know. And Professor Goodwitch is also, well…”

Both Jaune and Rook grimace.

“What’s that?” Rook asks, nodding to the book on top of the pile in Jaune’s arms.

“Oh, uhh… After Initiation I found out that there’s a whole bunch of things I don’t know, like about Aura and Semblances so I’m trying to catch up on what I haven’t studied. I don’t, you know, have a Semblance—” now Jaune was the one who looked like a kicked puppy, but he recovers cheerfully enough with, “—yet! I don’t have one yet.”

Rook stares at him unblinking, as if expecting to hear more.

Jaune slides the books into the crook of his elbow to free up his other hand to scratch his cheek, his blue eyes going still and serious, not quite meeting her gaze.

He gives a defeated sigh, feeling the power of Rook’s raw, single-minded gaze like it was a laser drilling into him, and capitulates in response to Rook’s unasked question.

“It’s just… you know… seeing people like… Pyrrha who’s good at _everything_ or Ruby who’s so much younger than us and so skilled already or even Oscar who’s practically the same age as Ruby and despite not having a Semblance either seems like he knows _exactly_ why he’s here… or Weiss who, well, you know… It makes me feel like I’m falling behind. Being here is my dream and I don’t want to feel like… like this was a mistake or I don’t belong. I want to make a difference. I’m supposed to be a leader… but I can’t help but feel like everyone thinks I’m bound to fail… even the teachers…”

He frowns, puzzling over himself for a bit.

“But you don’t need to hear this, you’ve got your own problems to deal with right now…” 

Rook is deathly quiet for a moment, watching Jaune even more intently than before as he runs his thumb over one of the loose papers as he held the books in his arms looking uncomfortable with her intense gaze boring into him. He also looks a little sad.

She opens her mouth, “Then you really are a big idiot.”

“What?”

“Y’big _dummy! Idiot! Blunderin’ oaf!_ Bein’ a leader’s ‘bout trust! I know that now. It’s obvious everyone in your team trusts you. It’s only been two weeks n’ yer team wants to support and defend you! Only two weeks ‘n people already trust you like that? _Dummy, dummy, dummy!_ So what if yer weak right now and bad at everything, that’s why yer here, right? Y’think Pyrrha or Ruby or Oscar came here without a reason? Y’think Pyrrha got good enough to win tournament after tournament without workin’ for it? Team JNPR wouldn’t be the same if y’weren’t in it, ya absolute buffoon!”

“W-Whoa…” Jaune straightens up as she huffs breathlessly at him. 

Rook scowls at him while Jaune then looks awkwardly to his feet, his cheeks flushing pink from embarrassment at getting yelled at so openly.

“I… hadn’t thought of it that way,” Jaune answers sheepishly.

“Well, y’should!” Rook continues to huff, _wishing_ she inspired half the warmth and trust Jaune did with those around him. Well, most people around him, anyway.

Jaune flounders for a minute but he was, as was his talent, quick to recover.

He laughs, awkwardly, but kindly, then adds in a much more playful tone as he teases, “You’re not half bad yourself, you know?”

Rook gives Jaune a half-lidded glance. Was he really for real?

“Oh,” Jaune says in surprise, causing Rook to startle slightly. “You smiled.”

“…No, I din’t.”

“Yes, you did. I saw it.”

“No, I din’t,” she huffs, embarrassed at his absolute _fabrication_ , because she most definitely _did not_ , “shut up!”

Jaune laughs again and flaps a hand as if to wave away the previous topic of conversation. He points to the stairwell. 

“Anyway, if you’re looking for Oscar, I think I saw him head up to the roof on his Scroll. He looked annoyed, so maybe it was a call from his mom or sister or something? Family, you know? I have to get going now, though. _This idiot’s_ —” _don’t point at yourself so proudly with that dumb, self-satisfied smile when you say that, Jaune! Rook wails inside her head.”—_ gotta return these books to the library and Lacey asked me to put her club application in for her.”

“Oh. Yeah, ‘kay… See y’around?” 

She gives Jaune an awkward wave goodbye, strangely giddy.

_“So that’s all the news from home,”_ Rook heard a voice that wasn’t Oscar’s say once she reaches the roof.

Jaune had been right, Oscar _was_ on his Scroll. Rook didn’t want to eavesdrop, but on one hand, with ears like hers, she couldn’t help it, and on the other… Oscar was… kind of mysterious. He acted like he thought he was an open book, but he wasn’t. He was really hard to figure out and it was frustrating! He seemed to be this perfectly normal ordinary kid from the middle of nowhere, but there was something about him she couldn’t place.

Her ears perked up, her full attention on Oscar’s conversation.

 _“You mightn’t have heard,”_ the female voice on the other line said _, “but they finally got a trial date.”_

“For Rhys?” Oscar asks. Even with his small back turned to her, even if she couldn’t see his face, just from hearing his voice say those two words, she could feel Oscar’s concern over this news, whatever it meant. She really had barged in on a really personal conversation, huh? Maybe she _should_ head back…

However, her legs refused to move. Transfixed to the spot as she kept quiet and simply kept watch over her little partner. Oscar clutches something tightly in the hand that wasn’t holding his Scroll like it was a lifeline.

The voice responded.

_“Me n’ my investigators had a devil of a time uncovering as many of his crimes as we could before the court settled on a date. He’ll be tried in Atlas owin’ to the fact the majority of his crimes were committed there, but it’ll still be an international case. He’s due for transfer in two weeks.”_

“That’s a relief, I suppose,” Oscar says, letting out a breath.

_“Hah! Well, I sure hell as ain’t sad to see him carted off to freeze his toesies off in an Atlas cell, either. He’s killed a fair number of humans too in his pursuit against Faunus that I’m not worried he’ll get a lighter sentence even in an Atlesian court.”_

“I see…” Oscar seems to mull over this. Court? Faunus? What was all this? Her heart struggled against her, equal measures interested in hearing more and conflicted over eavesdropping. Interest turned out to be the victor. Sorry, Oscar.

_“Aaand, here’s the real reason I called you. The court may or may not decide to ask for your testimony about the attack.”_

“What about Umber?”

_“Yeah, Umber too. But seein’ as she’s a minor, she has special circumstances. You too, but it’s a bit different now that you’re a huntsman-in-training.”_

“That sounds…” Oscar starts. From the way his shoulders slumped forward a little, Rook could tell he was thinking hard about something. She frowns watching him struggle with something she clearly didn’t yet understand. 

_“Like a hassle? You bet it is! Don’t worry your cute little head too much though. They’ll take your schooling into consideration so either Atlas will let you video in to testify or Beacon should give you time off for the court date.”_

Oscar sighs, resigned.

The voice continues.

_“Betcha feel personally responsible so you’d wanna see things through an’ come in person anyway. Ed says you was the type to be that way, leastways, an’ I agree.”_

Oscar lets out another soft breath almost beyond her ability to hear it, “Going to Atlas, huh?”

_“Bad memories, kid?”_

“Sort of. It’s just… been a while, I guess. …Un… finished business maybe.”

_“Kid, you always make it sound like you was some main character in a movie. ‘I thought I was out of Atlas, but they’re pullin’ me back in.’”_

“I have literally only seen one movie in my life, Mrs. Marin.”

_“Kid.”_

“What?”

_“Kiddo.”_

_“What?”_

“You’re killin’ me here. When you come back over break, you n’ Umber are coming over to watch movies with me n’ the girls.”

“…I’d like that.” 

He says that like a man who knew he was too soft-hearted to say this would never come to pass and so he lied because he didn’t want to break a child’s heart. She could hear the smile in his voice as he imagined the possibility and the sadness of reality too.

_“I’ll let you go for now. I’ll call you again soon for details, alright? Bye bye, now~”_

“…Din’t mean t’ eavesdrop,” Rook murmurs quietly once Oscar safely tucks away his Scroll and was about to get up. He almost jumps after hearing her voice, clutching that something from earlier close to his chest. 

Oscar stares at her for a second clearly collecting his thoughts before smiling and patting the space next to him, inviting her to sit. She does so, her legs crossed, staring up at Beacon tower.

“Yer… step… mom, maybe…?”

“No!” Oscar says, strangely alarmed. He recovers and answers much more smoothly. “No. She’s… an investigator who works for the police back where I live. She handles… I think it’s called ‘special victims?’”

“Oh. Faunus, then,” Rook responds, her lips curling into a bitter smile.

“Annnd others, I think. But yeah… lots of Faunus cases. Dr. Ed thinks it’s because she’s a Faunus too so they unfairly dump _all_ those cases on her, but I don’t think she actually minds. She’s a friend, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Well, it’s a little complicated. It’s hard to call an adult an actual a friend, right? It’s… weird.”

“True… but yer friendly?”

“Yeah. She’s also a real handful. I never know how to deal with her.”

Rook didn’t like to pry for details, and it was obvious from his behavior over the past two weeks that Oscar was a private person, so she didn’t ask for more especially since she just violated that privacy by eavesdropping. Oscar had respected her past and her choices when he figured out what her Semblance was and then never asked her about it, pried for details, or told anyone else about it. He just accepted her and her Semblance for what they were. A part of her. He respected the space of others and let the people around him decide when they were ready to talk.

She hoped she could do the same for him. She hoped maybe she could earn his trust.

Besides that, she deeply respected Oscar in a way she never expected to feel for any human before. Let alone someone this much younger than her.

“…How’d it go? Yer interview with the headmaster?”

“It was…”

Oscar searches for the words to describe it, fiddling unconsciously with the thing pressed to his chest…

Oscar stands, arms crossed in front of his chest staring out the Ozpin’s office window while the headmaster waits patiently for his answer. In the reflection of the window, Oscar could see Ozpin seated at his desk, ever so slightly leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, his posture still and almost timeless. He could be a mere memory, or even the Ozpin he imagined in his head, a ghost, a shadow, a whisper.

“I don’t like this,” Oscar says, his hand stretching out to touch the reflection of Ozpin in the window. 

“I know.”

“I _really_ don’t like this.”

“…I know,” Ozpin repeats solemnly with a small bow of his head, like he truly did understand the weight of what he was asking of him and was sorry for it. 

Oscar sighs emphatically, but it wasn’t directed at Ozpin. Not really. Not truly.

They were talking about Oscar’s “adoption.” Oscar had at first been bewildered by Ozpin’s proposal, then his heart surged uncharacteristically hot and electric, enraged because how _dare_ he? He had _real_ parents whom he’d loved while they were still alive! He’d had a place he belonged to! And a family! Even if it was now only his aunt! Before any of this started! Back when his life was less messy and complicated! It was like spitting on his parents’ graves. His parents, his real mom and his real dad, they were _irreplaceable_ in his heart. And this was just going to be _another thing this whole war and curse would take from h_ —!

…But his feelings drifted wide as he continued to consider and dwindled dangerously close to acceptance due to the sheer practicality of the suggestion. This situation _wasn’t_ Ozpin’s fault. He, Oscar, had chosen to come to Beacon, chose to share his truth with the professor, _chose_ to _trust_ him. He could have easily rejected this fate, this war, this man, but back when he was reeling from crossing time, the thought had never traversed his mind. Because he was Oscar, he couldn’t turn away, and because he was also Oz, he couldn’t ignore what was right.

And Ozpin wasn’t suggesting this out of malice, nor was he intending to dishonor Oscar’s parents. Oscar knew this.

Oscar reexamined his feelings every time he spoke to Ozpin, maybe every time he _thought_ of him, flickering between anger, distrust, sorrow; between faith, yearning, and, well, love. Ozpin had given him many things besides the terrors, responsibilities, and burden of knowledge that lingered inside them. He’d given him hope, and courage, and strength. He’d connected him with allies—dear friends without compare—he’d never have met otherwise, showed him the world outside of his farm, and woke the slumbering desire to do _something_ with his life beyond the farm.

He was… his mentor, and maybe even his friend.

_And they were going to do this together._

“I can believe your situation because… we… are both Oz,” Ozpin continues softly, the low cadence of his voice conveying the thought and care he felt towards Oscar’s situation, “but I think it’s in your best interest that we keep your history to ourselves.”

“I don’t like this,” Oscar repeats uselessly and stubbornly one last time. He knew he should commit, he _knew_ , but some part of him was still unwilling, the half-remembered faces of his parents watching him as imaginary figures behind his eyes.

“We also can’t let any information slip to Salem about your future knowledge.”

“…”

“You might have the history and experience of everyone we have ever been before running through your veins,” Ozpin states, slowly turning around in his chair to face Oscar’s back as the boy still stood staring out the clocktower window, “but it’s going to be hard for Qrow or Glynda or James to believe what you say, that you traversed the threshold of time itself to give us another chance. Therefore, it is imperative we come up with a convincing narrative and act in tandem.”

From experience, Oscar knew that Ozpin wasn’t the kind of person who _fidgets_ , but watching his reflection sitting there at his desk gazing at Oscar in uncertain apprehension he seemed… possessed of some kind of nervous, frenetic energy. Nothing in his behavior indicated it, Ozpin was always very careful how he expressed himself to others, always fighting to remain composed and self-assured at all times, but there was something about him that gave off the sense his feelings were just as desperate as Oscar’s.

He taps Ozpin’s reflection in the glass.

Oscar lets out a frustrated sound, but it is quiet enough he only meant it for himself. 

After that one last push, he gives in.

With a slump of his shoulders and a sag of his head (and heart), he says,“…Yeah, okay. I hate that I can see the necessity. I don’t think it’ll be easy anyone to believe I’m your ‘long lost son’, though. We look nothing alike. Who would _ever_ believe that?” 

He looks over his shoulder staring at Ozpin and genuinely wondering how they were going to make such a thing seem credible. It was such a _ridiculous_ notion. 

Ozpin grows silent looking a little… embarrassed? Well, it would be embarrassing to pretend you suddenly had a son, wouldn’t it? Would it ruin Ozpin’s reputation with others? Having a ‘son’ they never knew about and having ‘abandoned’ a ‘mother’ they never knew? They were sure to look down on him, weren’t they? Was it going to be a problem, getting involved as Ozpin’s ‘son?’ How would this change things?

Who, indeed? Certainly the headmaster of a prestigious academy would _never_ have mistaken Oscar for his own son once upon a time. Certainly not! A headmaster like that would never have to admit that, actually, maybe, possibly _he_ had believed such a thing. 

Little did Oscar know in that moment the true feelings of transcendental embarrassment or silent, agonizing pleas for him to move their conversation onwards that Ozpin grappled with. He didn’t notice the effort it took for Ozpin to keep his expression neutral or the white of his knuckles as he clasped his hands together a little tighter out of unfathomable, inarticulate mortification.

Ozpin gave a small cough to clear his throat and a small, tight smile formed on his face.

“I…” he starts before shortly stopping. He tries again, “I believe you can… leave that to me.”

“Well, okay…” Oscar gives in easily with a shrug, deciding that Ozpin seemed to have something in mind. Oscar continues to examine the next tenant of Ozpin’s proposal. “But you mentioned clairvoyance?” he asks in a tone he clearly would have had an eyeroll attached to it if Oscar was in different company. 

“Explains your future knowledge,” Ozpin points out.

Oscar nods slowly and thoughtfully, digesting the logic. That makes sense.

“But really, your _son?_ ” he circles back, feeling unsure once again.

“Explains why you know about Salem and our—‘my’—past. My estranged, very courageous son after being set upon by his father’s enemies struck out on his own against them before deciding he’d gathered enough information to share to those and participate with who were doing something about it, which happens to include me. Also, we have a very complicated relationship.”

Oscar rubs his temple and mutters, _“Worse than Auntie’s novels,”_ under his breath.

“I won’t budge on this, Oscar,” Ozpin states, sitting up straight and squaring his shoulders, his mood turning grave, his tone imperious. “This is _my_ ultimatum. And I believe you won’t budge on yours, either. If you insist on being a part of this—and I like to think I know you well enough now to know you would even if I hindered you at every step—then there are people, enemies, who will try to dig into your background and would destroy you for your knowledge, let alone for who you _are_. We can’t have anyone finding out what you know. Your ‘missing time’ is more explainable as you leaving on a personal mission and your… chaotic ‘return’ feels right if you’d run into more trouble than you bargained for, a fact in which explains why you decided to call upon someone who could help.”

Oscar sighs again, this time more resigned than before.

“So I would be…” he struggles for a moment, his heart quavering “…your son.”

Ozpin nods.

“Who… can see the future?”

Ozpin nods again. 

“…Who encountered Salem.”

Ozpin nods twice, slowly, as if encouraging to continue.

Oscar hesitates.

“That’s… that’s a lot of lying, Oz…”

“I know. And I would not ask of you to do anything more than you have to. In a sense, it’s not _too_ far off from the truth. You _do_ know the future, you are carrying, well, _our_ legacy, so there’s a line of succession, and you have encountered Salem—yes?”

Oscar starts to nod, but then freezes up.

“Not… in person… I think…?”

Ozpin is silent for a few moments, repeatedly tapping the tips of his fingers together as he sits in his chair observing Oscar carefully. His eyes narrow. 

“There is something I have been meaning to ask of you,” Ozpin states, perhaps purposefully oblique, his expression indecipherable over those glasses of his.

“What is it?”

Ozpin shifts in his chair, drumming his fingers on his knee for a moment as if deliberating his words carefully.

“Just how _far_ in the future are you from?”

“…Oh.”

“Oh?”

Until Initiation Oscar was certain he knew exactly what point in time he was from, but after seeing the bullet-riddled, pockmarked stone of what ruins remained in the canyon and having an unknown, foreign _future memory_ past the point he blacked out dislodged, he wasn’t so sure. Oscar hesitates. Would Ozpin view him as unreliable if he said the truth about it, that he couldn’t remember the precise point in which he trickled through the cracks of time? If he thought Oscar’s memories were unreliable because he couldn’t remember something he really should remember, then would Ozpin distrust his assertions? Work against him? 

“I don’t know,” Oscar answers before he found himself in a spiral of disorganized worry and vague fear. He just knew he had to tell the truth. Ozpin _should_ know that he didn’t know everything. “I remember passing out below Atlas and that’s the last thing I remember, uh, chronologically, but, um, recently I discovered some memories from after that.”

The headmaster blinks slowly.

“I see,” he says and adds nothing further, apparently deciding to keep his thoughts to himself…

Oscar felt a rush of emotion, a sudden, chaotic, unknown _need_ to say something. _Anything._ The words practically fall out of his mouth in his rush to say them to the one person who he could talk to who might understand. Or, at the very least, someone who would want to, who would attempt to.

“…I got separated from my friends. Or at least, the last chronological memory is one where I was separated. I only had you. Mantle was overrun with Grimm, maybe Atlas next, Salem was coming, a-and…”

 _Ironwood shot me_ _and he didn’t care if I lived or died, only that I was in the way._

“Oscar?” Ozpin’s voice sounds so far away and so soft in a way he didn’t want to hear.

Oscar shakes his head, hand clasped over his heart.

_In his head he hears his own voice in a memory that stretched across time and recollection and said, somehow both upbeat and utterly glacial, “Hello again, General.”_

_“…You!” a familiar voice responds, sounding like a wrathful god, “How—!”_

But wait, when did that happen? Oscar runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, having recovered yet another broken memory and such a small one at that. So he’d met General Ironwood again, huh…? 

“Oscar?”

Oscar flinches, suddenly finding Ozpin had vacated his chair and crouched down, his face eye level with his. He hadn’t heard him get up from his desk let alone had any sense that he’d come over to him.

“Um…”

No. He didn’t want to talk about this right now. Later. Definitely later. Much later.

He changes the topic.

“…I’m not calling you ‘dad.’”

Ozpin gives a frustratingly gentle and understanding smile. His answer is soft but obviously amused.

“Sounds exactly what an estranged long lost son _would_ say to his absentee father.”

“…You… think this is funny?” he asks, temper suddenly flaring.

“I think… we are plotting against an ancient evil who has killed us time and time again, so I would like to ensure your safety even if mine and Beacon’s is compromised. I think we’re fighting a war and I know part of you understands why misinformation is necessary even among allies—that’s not me wanting to bury the truth. We need to keep your knowledge safe and we need _you_ to be valued and respected among our allies if I do fall and you eventually have to tell them the truth about yourself. We must ensure that you, and the memories you hold, are kept safe.”

“…In other words,” Oscar grinds out the words bitterly, “manipulate people into trusting me so when I tell them I lied earlier they’ll have an easier time accepting it because I’m so respectable and trustworthy and good.”

Ozpin doesn’t even blink.

“Yes.”

Ozpin doesn’t bother to soften his words because he knew Oscar would see through him.

“I—!" he starts angrily, but Ozpin cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, Oscar, that’s our reality,” Ozpin states with a note of finality and an unfathomable, incomprehensible patience in his voice, his expression unchanging.

Oscar fumes silently.

“Like I said, this is _my_ ultimatum. And…” Ozpin peers into Oscar’s eyes with still far too much understanding than he liked, “it isn’t as though you’re not keeping secrets of your own,” Ozpin adds. “I get the impression, whatever it is, this thing you won’t say, this thing that so obviously pains you, it’s not precisely of the Salem kind.”

Oscar looks at him sharply, body tense., fists clenched in consuming anger because…! Because…!

Then his shoulders sag.

“ _Fine._ I get it. I… understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. Still not calling you ‘Dad.’”

“How wonderful to hear, my delightful and moody long lost ‘son.’”

Ozpin reaches out and musses up his hair, a faint smile on his lips. He thinks it’s the most genuine expression he’s ever seen Ozpin make. He looks almost happy. 

…

A moment passes between them , Oscar feels the corner of his lips twitch, because this was just _so incredibly_ \-- 

“…Pfft. Don’t—I mean stop... making that face. You look _stupid_.”

“Heh heh…”

They both started laughing. Subdued, but heartfelt.

“I hate this,” Oscar says when they both settled, tired annoyance creeping into his voice, but there’s no heat behind his words. He puts his hands over his face. “This is ridiculous, and I hate it. …But I understand the reasons behind it.”

He feels a little lost, but then resolves himself.

“I…” he begins before quickly losing steam. He shakes his head as if to rid himself of his worries and looks Ozpin in the eyes. “If it means you’ll tell Qrow, Glynda, and Ironwood the truth, then I …accept.”

He offers his hand to Ozpin.

Ozpin simply offers a small hum of amusement and clasps his hand in his own. They shake on it. Like real adults and everything. Their deal is settled. 

Ozpin rises to his feet.

“There is another thing I’d like to a—no, perhaps another time…”

“You said that last time,” Oscar points out quickly.

“And unless I will be dying tomorrow, then we should have enough time to properly get to know each other. I admit, the idea of sharing the truth terrifies me, but if you’re by my side, I think I’ll somehow have the strength to see it through…”

Not without some slight apprehension, Oscar finally acquiesces yet again. Ozpin _wasn’t_ dying tomorrow so it was probably okay. Besides, he needed some time space to himself after this whole affair. 

“Alright then… As I said, I don’t like the idea of lying on my part, but I… agree that Salem can’t find out and that… explaining time travel would be too difficult to understand right after telling them the truth and may need to wait. I… might need some help, though.”

“You shall have it. Now, shall we conclude this discussion here for now?”

“Well… actually. There is _one more thing_ I’d like to ask of you…”

Ozpin tilts his head ever so slightly to the side to indicate he was listening.

“I have a request.” 

Ozpin listened intently to Oscar’s appeal before he nods his head and agrees almost immediately to it. After that, they finally parted ways, Ozpin’s eyes following him until the doors of his elevator closed. When the doors do close, Oscar gives a deep sigh, all but sagging against the wall of the elevator.

This was _grueling_. He was so desperate and so afraid, but he was also unflinchingly _hopeful_.

His heart soared.

They could do it. They could defeat Salem, protect Beacon, and save Ozpin and Pyrrha from their tragic ends.

_They had to._

Back in the present with Oscar and Rook, Oscar finally describes how their discussion went.

“…Routine, I guess?” he tells her mildly with an expression she can’t quite read on his face. Inscrutable yet again, little partner? She could only dream of the day he would begin to trust her with more of his true self. He didn’t lie about himself, never put on airs or led anyone to believe he was greater or lesser than what he was, but that didn’t mean he let anyone see his weaknesses. Rook found, with increasing desire, that she wanted to support him.

And not just him, but Lacey and Alexander too. Everyone had taught her a lot. Jaune and Oscar taught her about warmth and kindness and trust, Lacey and Alexander taught her about the need to communicate and to share. Velvet from team CVFY showed her how a faunus with human teammates could live and work proudly alongside them, respected and relied on as much as everyone else. Besides Blake who seemed wary of her now, Team RWBY and the rest of JNPR taught her what a team _should_ look like. And she could only hope to live up to that standard someday.

…If they didn’t expel her first, that is. 

Rook doesn’t comment, but instead stays silent, watching Beacon tower glow green in the distance.

Eventually, she asks, nodding at the hand clutched to Oscar’s chest, “What’s that?”

Oscar finally releases what he was clasping tight to show her.

“It’s a necklace my friend Umber made me as a going away gift. There’s a flower pressed inside against the glass.”

Rook peers closely at it.

“What kinda flower?”

“Camellia. It’s supposed to symbolize strength to overcome adversity. We learned how to make glass over the spring, Umber and I, so I guess she made it for me then…”

“…Sounds nice,” Rook murmurs, her voice wavering with a hint of gloom and maybe a smidge of jealousy. She’d never had a friend like that. Someone who would miss her if she was gone…

Oscar affectionately strokes the metallic frame that held the glass in place fondly, right before he turns to Rook, arm stretched out, palm turned upwards, the necklace cradled gently in his hand.

“I think you should take care of it for now.”

“W-What? Why?”

For the second time that day, Rook looked overwhelmingly flustered.

“Isn’t this something precious to you?”

“Yeah,” he answers matter-of-factly, “It’s probably one of the most expensive things I own but that’s not why I treasure it.”

“Then why would y—?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Oscar explains, cutting her off. “My friend’s a Faunus, like you. She’s had a lot of hardship because of it and she was constantly afraid of how people would treat her if they found out. I only helped her out a little bit when she was afraid, and she gave this to me because she wanted it to give me strength too when I was scared in turn. But…” Oscar takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “I’m not scared right now. Or, at least, I’m more _hopeful_ than I am afraid.”

Oscar tilts his head, smiling at Rook, and presses the necklace into her palm.

“There’s a lot of stuff I’m still afraid of, in the future, but I think,” here, Oscar closes his eyes and places his hands on his chest, “there’s more room in me for hope. And right now, I want to lend a little bit of my hope to you. I’m sure Umber would have wanted to, too, if she knew you. And when I’m scared and I lose my resolve later, you can give it back, and we can keep going together.”

A little unsure, Rook hesitantly begins to place her hand over Oscar’s before stopping just short of taking the precious necklace, hovering mere millimeters above her partner’s. Her heart was pounding, she felt utterly and truly touched. Seen. Acknowledged. But… why? 

“What… are you scared of? If _I_ didn’t scare you, then—”

“You’re not scary,” Oscar interrupts her again, clasping her hand, turning it over and almost reverentially placing the necklace atop her palm. Then he turns his gaze away from hers, drew his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, staring out at Beacon tower with an incomprehensible smile. Despite this, he looked a little distant. Sad. But he didn’t look like someone who was giving up. As Rook sat there in silence, stars gradually began to appear in the sky one by one. Oscar’s gaze seemed so, so far away in some distant place or time, “I’m scared of things like, dying, or my friends dying, or being unable to accomplish my goal, or war. Lots of stuff. But not you. You’re Rook. We’re partners now. Your Semblance is Fear, but that doesn’t make _you_ scary.” 

For someone so young, Oscar sometimes acted a lot older than he was and certainly a hell of a lot _tougher,_ too. She didn’t think any ordinary kids his age would worry about things like that. About war or dying. At least not someone from a place so small it wasn’t even marked on a map and had zero resources for bandits or townships to fight over. But he _wasn’t_ an ordinary kid, was he? Not really. He often woke from nightmares he pretended he didn’t have, he was one of the youngest accepted to Beacon in their year, and he was kind without reserve. 

He was so…

She brings her hands up to her face. She felt so raw and validated. Seen for who she was by this… fearful fearless kid. For the first time in her life, she felt she had met someone who truly wouldn’t turn his back on her.

“Dammit Os’, don’t make me cry. Yer the second person to say something like that to me today…”

Because her eyes were hidden behind her hands, trying to wipe the tears that suddenly sprang forth, she missed Oscar’s pained expression when she’d called him ‘Os.” She only knows the heartfelt hug that held her afterwards until she finished sobbing. He’d been, as he always was, gentle about it. Careful to give her every avenue to pull away if she wanted.

“Who did it first?” he asks once she calms down.

“Jaune.”

She doesn’t need to see his face to know that his smile brightens. Oscar loved team JNPR. At times Rook wondered if he’d prefer to be on their team rather than hers. If she remained the leader of this team that is…

“’E’s stupid,” Rook tells him, mumbling into his shoulder, knowing a crestfallen expression immediately appeared on his face. “Thinks just ‘cause he doesn’t have a Semblance that he doesn’t deserve to be a leader. Cardin was hasslin’ him earlier.”

She pulls away from him and Oscar offers her a rainbow-quilted hand towel. She scrubs her face, trying to scrub with it the embarrassment for losing her tough guy persona. Stupid Oscar, stupid Jaune, making her feel things. Terrible.

“Oh, Cardin…” Oscar murmurs when she pulls away, expression darkening unhappily, which was telling for the nature of Cardin’s character if even _Oscar_ couldn’t act neutral upon hearing his name. Come to think of it, he’d yelled at Cardin for shoving Jaune, whom he looked up to, into a locker some time before.

 _Sucks to be you, Cardin,_ she thinks to herself in triumph over an entirely imaginary contest where the prize was Oscar’s good will and endearment. _Even the nice kid won’t forgive your actions. Hmph! Serves you right!_

“I’ll hold onto this fer now,” Rook tells Oscar, letting the necklace drape between her fingers, voice raspy but deliberate. “A-An’ whenever yer scared or y’lose yer way or need help… I’ll be there to give it back.”

Her smallest partner answers her with a sincere smile and she can’t help but smile back.

Ruby was beginning to hear things she shouldn’t and she was kind of low-key freaking out about it.

It all started the day after Rook lost control of her Semblance. She didn’t know if this was some sort of aftereffect of what happened that night or what, but ever since she’s been hearing things even though she was wide awake. It didn’t even need Rook to trigger it, apparently. Once, in the courtyard, she thought she’d heard the shriek of falling steel, as if something massive and mechanical were cutting through the sky in freefall followed by cascading high-impact explosions and horrible screams. She even felt sensations, the rumbling of the ground, the vibration of the crash. She’d clapped her hands over her ears, looking around for the source of the noise and how she could help, but it was brief and once the sound passed she realized everyone in the courtyard was staring at her. Not a single person she asked afterward had heard what she had.

She even heard voices.

In the middle of one of Professor Port’s lectures, she heard a cold, terrible voice murmur in her ear, _“Your mother said those words to me. She was wrong, too.”_

She was so petrified in that moment that her spine had frozen solid and her eyes refused to blink, mind going completely blank. Her hand gripped her pencil so hard it cracked down the middle. The voice (she imagined, maybe) pulled away with a smirk, reveling delightedly in her turbulent emotions and capsizing heart.

After class, Weiss, in her haughty way, complimented her for paying close attention to the lesson. Ruby had just shivered in response.

If she’d been younger and hadn’t unlocked her Semblance yet, she might have thought that _this_ was an awakening of it. Since she already unlocked hers, she knew that couldn’t be it.

She hovered anxiously around the infirmary and bustled to visit Lacey whenever an adult asked her what she was doing there. Somehow, she simply couldn’t voice her trouble aloud and Lacey was probably lonely anyway.

“I don’t know what’s bothering you,” Lacey had told her, expression blank, the way it always was when she was ‘reading’ someone. “But you should tell someone.”

Ruby’s response was to smile, feign ignorance, and deny anything was wrong.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Lacey went on, blunt as ever, tapping just to the side of her eye as if to say that she _knew otherwise_ , because she _did_. “You don’t have to tell _me_ , I, uh… know what I’m like with emotions and stuff, you know? But I’m sure there’s _someone_ who can help, yeah?”

Ruby left saying she’d consider it and then ended up going back the next day with Oscar, Alexander, Velvet, and Rook in tow to build reconciliation. After that, she got caught up in helping plan Lacey’s recovery party.

Still those chilling words lingered in her mind like a dark promise.

Her mother… what had her mother said to the cold, terrible voice? Why was she wrong? 

In the winter before she would begin Beacon, Ruby had gone to visit her mother’s grave. The falling snow and frosty cliffs muffled any sound around her and made her feel like she was the only person who existed in that dreamlike world, that time had been frozen in this moment just for her. Then she heard the snow crunch underfoot, her breath coming out in a white cloud, reminding her that time carried on. 

Although this is where her mother was remembered, this was not where she rested. No one knew where Summer Rose had truthfully met her end, nor how. Had she been killed in battle? Facing down Grimm and resisting until she drew her last breath? Had she gone peacefully? Was it sickness? Or an injury that could not be healed under the power of her own Aura, festering until it grew to be too much? Had she died knowing she would never see her family again? In her final moments had she looked up at the same broken moon Ruby stood under and thought of her?

Whatever it had been, Ruby hoped it hadn’t been painful even if she knew it likely was.

On dark nights when she was little, Yang would read to her and put her to bed. Yang would read to her stories of heroes and monsters, of hope and sacrifice and love. Ruby wasn’t ever afraid of monsters under her bed nor in the woods. Of course monsters were real, but monsters could also be vanquished. She lived her life surrounded by monster-slayers; her mom, her uncle, her dad. Even her sister aspired to be one. What was there to be afraid of?

And her mom was one of the greatest stories told of all.

Ruby hadn’t spent a lot of time with her mother and knew her mostly from the stories people would tell of her. It was part of the reason she loved those stories of heroes and monsters, of doing right even when it was hard. Everyone on Patch had something to say or a story to tell about her mother. Her dad, her sister, her uncle… at this point, Ruby’s mother was more legend than person in her mind.

Everyone had a story to tell about her; everyone, that is, except Ruby.

Oh, she could _remember_ her mother, barely. A gentle hand smoothing back a lock of stray hair, a smiling face beaming down at her, hugs and kisses whenever her mom came home and walked through the front door. She could remember being picked up and playfully tossed, laughing and crying in equal measure.

And she could remember the sudden emptiness in her life when her mother was taken from her, like she had been nothing but a reassuring dream following after in the wake of nightmares; the daybreak after nightfall. Ruby didn’t like to dwell on it much. She’d been angry, she’d been sad, but ultimately she couldn’t stay like that. She preferred to keep moving forward, because growing up between her grieving father and her firecracker sister, _someone_ had to smile, keep the peace, and support her loved ones when they couldn’t do it themselves.

She thinks that’s part of the reason why her dad treats her a little more delicately than he does Yang. Training with dad wasn’t the same as training with Uncle Qrow. Watching Yang train with dad she could tell how much he was holding back, how much she hadn’t learned from him. (It didn’t help she was just plain _bad_ at hand-to-hand and there was no way no how she was _ever_ going to learn it.) Summer had been the second love of his life and she hadn’t abruptly and scornfully disengaged with family life like his first had. She’d made a promise, and dad said her mom always kept her promises. 

And so, her dad worried for her just a little more than he did for Yang.

Ruby’s last significant memory of her mother was before her last mission and on the very cliff her memory was interred. The sun was setting, sinking deeper and deeper into the sea. Her mother had turned around, smiling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes practically sparkling in the light of the dying sun.

She’s not sure why, but something in that moment scared her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back,” her mother had reassured her at the time, trying to soothe Ruby who was too young to be able to communicate her fears and distress. “I promise.”

But she never did. She broke her promise.

The words surge back into her mind. _“She was wrong, too”_

And now, ever since she came to Beacon, she’s been thinking about her mother more and more. There was something… something about the dream she had, that nightmare, those words, something she was on the cusp of remembering. Something strange, something scary…

Her thoughts wandered.

Had she been a good student? Did she get along with her teammates at first? Had she butted heads with them like she had with Weiss?

The first week of school had been trying. She was younger than almost everyone, she’d unexpectedly been made the leader of her team, and despite her enthusiasm and excitement, she felt so secretly in over her head she still can’t believe she’s here at all. This was the school her mother attended. Her dad, too, and her uncle. (And her aunt, but it was best not to mention that out loud around her family. Or maybe ever.)

Ruby didn’t care so much as _being_ the best so much as she cared about _doing_ her best. She’d worked incredibly hard to get to her current skill level with Crescent Rose and, although they were nowhere near Weiss’ level or expectations, her grades in other classes were inoffensive enough to her partner to earn only a small ‘hmph!’ It helped that Weiss had a sort of gravity around her when it came to studying for tests that drew everyone else in willingly or not, but Ruby didn’t think she was so bad on her own when she actually tried hard at it. Oscar and Professor Ozpin had been right. What she did now, what she chose to do now would determine what kind of leader she became, and she didn’t want to be the kind of leader who disappointed her friends and teammates.

She didn’t want to be the kind of leader who broke promises.

She hadn’t been expecting to be made leader. At Signal, she’d been a shy, awkward, sometimes-class-clown who was never exactly fit into others expectations of what they thought she _ought_ to be. She wasn’t used to what people expected her as a student at Beacon and as a leader either in this case. When it had come to light who was going to be on the team, she had thought that maybe Weiss or Yang would be made leader. Weiss obviously had her own ideas about how to lead and what to expect of others and from experience Ruby knew her sister could be very charismatic.

Though, she wondered, what it was about her that made Professor Ozpin choose her instead? She felt a connection to him—she had ever since they met in that interrogation room—but what did he see in her? To her, he already felt like a mentor. Already he was guiding her into making her own decisions and letting her decide who she wanted to be, but a teacher would do that for all his students, right? So why did their connection feel so personal? Special, even.

Then again, maybe it was just having a teacher who liked her who wasn’t in some way related to her. Signal had been a great experience, but when it was your dad and your Uncle instructing you in class it felt different than a weird aloof stranger who gave you cookies doing so.

In any case, Ruby worked hard during her first two weeks at Beacon. She’d made friends a lot faster than she’d been expecting. Befriending Weiss and becoming her partner was a huge surprise, but also Jaune who was kind of a dork but turning out to be a good friend. There was Pyrrha who seemed to watch over everyone with care, politely brushing off fans and flatterers alike, along with so many other people.

At the end of the first week, something unexpected happened, the event that landed Lacey in the infirmary in the first place. Two of team NOIR’s members got into a fight, which resulted with one of them going to the infirmary whereas the other’s enrollment was being reconsidered and possibly terminated. She liked team NOIR. She didn’t want anything to happen to them. Rook was standoffish, but Ruby didn’t think she had an unkind heart. Lacey was strange and although she knew very little about her and she gave off a sort of unsettling vibe, Ruby thought she was trying her best. Oscar had given her advice and was the same age as her, so she hoped they could become better friends, and Alexander was stiff, but he was also very clearly concerned for the welfare of others despite his uptight attitude.

That’s why, when Glynda interviewed her again, this time “officially”, about her version of events at the end of the second week, Ruby told the truth and gave an impassioned plea not to expel Rook.

“Here,” says Professor Glynda Goodwitch when they had finished, “my Scroll ID in case something else like this comes up again. You did well to come get me on that night. No one can handle everything by themselves. I’m pleased to know you can learn from your earlier follies.”

_Ouch. It seems like she was still upset about the Torchwick incident. Whoops._

Ruby lowers her eyes, concentrating on the contact number, but also a little pleased and embarrassed over receiving praise, no matter how little, from Goodwitch. She’d expected harsh admonishment given Ruby’s track record with the woman. Professor Goodwitch was extremely hard to please.

“Just, uh, doing my duty…!” Ruby manages to respond, trailing off awkwardly like the brilliant conversationalist she was.

Ruby hears the professor let out a quiet, but relenting breath.

“You’re reckless Miss Rose, but anyone can tell you have a good heart. You really are far too young…”

“Professor…?”

For a fleeting moment, Ruby thought she saw Glynda’s expression soften, but she must have imagined it because it hardened right after their eyes met and she was scolded yet again.

“In any event, we’re finished here. Don’t let me catch you goofing off in class again either. I’ll be watching you more closely from now on.”

_Yikes! If she stayed here any longer, she’d get detention just from standing here!_

Despite her alarm and unknown to Ruby, in that moment after their meeting, Glynda _thinks_ she understands what Professor Ozpin saw in her. She _thinks_.

“Right!” Ruby answers swiftly with sudden urgency. “I’ll be on my way then.”

Escaping Glynda’s clutches, she wonders if her mother had been treated like a troublemaker.

Well, Uncle Qrow had called her a brat, so she proba… b… ly…

Wait, did he actually call her that? When did he say that? Hmmmngh?

…

Well, whatever! Who could remember the specific time when anyone said anything anyway?

_That night, Ruby once again dreamt of snow falling in a foreign city._

_And she hears, in her own voice, unwavering and defiant, “We don’t have to kill you to stop you.”_

[Made a lot of art in the interim between this chapter and the last:

[Ruby but scary.](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/633070244462837760/wheres-your-halloween-costume-ruby-you-didnt)

[God of Light Antlers Faunus Oscar](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/632708266963664896/im-a-big-fan-of-insulationsuns-god-of-light), (concept courtesy of tumblr user[ insulationsun](https://insulationsun.tumblr.com/).)

[Atlas fugitives enjoy one last moment of levity](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/632551273985703936/my-headcanon-is-that-jaunes-actually-pretty-good)

[c:w: bit of blood in this one.] [Traumatized Blake with Yang.](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/631169602255208448/guilt)

[Ruby!!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/630910470165037057/ruby-rose-can-kick-ur-ass)

[Sad rosegarden reunion!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/626370214012026880/its-okay-ruby-im-okay-tfw-you-find-out-your)

[Happy rosegarden reunion!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/626035630313537536/youre-alive-i-just-want-a-really-heartfelt)

[It's Weiss!!](https://trailofclementines.tumblr.com/post/633073864352677888/keep-your-back-straight-and-your-foot-forward)

I'm not linking everything, just the ones I like a lot.

Lastly I made a personal tumblr since I felt weird about answering fanfic asks on my art blog. It's a sideblog so I don't think I can follow anyone? But feel free to chat or ask questions or anything else! [Here it is.](https://ghostvoi.tumblr.com/)]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, I wonder what Oscar's request was, don't you...? :3cc
> 
> Thank you everyone who continues to read and comment on this work despite my incredibly slow pace. I think I genuinely have the coolest and nicest readers in the world.


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